nd our Generals
were making ready for a combined campaign.

Pugatchef had reassembled his troops, and was still to be found before
Orenburg. At the approach of our forces the disaffected villages
returned to their allegiance.

Soon Prince Galitsyn won a complete victory over Pugatchef, who had
ventured near Fort Talitcheff; the victor relieved Orenburg, and
appeared to have given the finishing stroke to the rebellion.

In the midst of all this Zourine had been detached against some mounted
Bashkirs, who dispersed before we even set eyes on them.

Spring, which caused the rivers to overflow, and thus block the roads,
surprised us in a little Tartar village, when we consoled ourselves for
our forced inaction by the thought that this insignificant war of
skirmishers with robbers would soon come to an end.

But Pugatchef had not been taken; he reappeared very soon in the mining
country of the Ural, on the Siberian frontier. He reassembled new bands,
and again began his robberies. We soon learnt the destruction of
Siberian forts, then the fall of Khasan, and the audacious march of the
usurper on Moscow.

Zourine received orders to cross the River Volga. I shall not stay to
relate the events of the war.

I shall only say that misery reached its height. The gentry hid in the
woods; the authorities had no longer any power anywhere; the leaders of
solitary detachments punished or pardoned without giving account of
their conduct. All this extensive and beautiful country-side was laid
waste with fire and sword.

May God grant we never see again so senseless and pitiless a revolt. At
last Pugatchef was beaten by Michelson, and was obliged to fly again.

Zourine received soon afterwards the news that the robber had been taken
and the order to halt.

The war was at an end.

It was at last possible for me to go home. The thought of embracing my
parents and seeing Marya again, of whom I had no news, filled me with
joy. I jumped like a child.

Zourine laughed, and said, shrugging his shoulders--

"Wait a bit, wait till you be married; you'll see all go to the devil
then."

And I must confess a strange feeling embittered my joy.

The recollection of the man covered with the blood of so many innocent
victims, and the thought of the punishment awaiting him, never left me
any peace.

"Emela,"[69] I said to myself, in vexation, "why did you not cast
yourself on the bayonets, or present your heart to the grapeshot. That