ce of honor,
elbow on table, his heavy, black beard resting upon his muscular hand.
His features, regular and handsome, had no ferocious expression. He
often spoke to a man of some fifty years, calling him now Count, again
Uncle. All treated each other as comrades, showing no very marked
deference for their chief. They talked of the assault that morning; of
the revolt, its success, and of their next operations. Each one boasted
of his prowess, gave his opinions, and freely contradicted Pougatcheff.
In this strange council of war, they resolved to march upon Orenbourg, a
bold move, but justified by previous successes. The departure was fixed
for the next day. Each one drank another bumper, and rising, took leave
of Pougatcheff. I wished to follow them, but the brigand said: "Wait, I
want to speak to you."

Pougatcheff looked at me fixedly in silence for a few seconds, winking
his left eye with the most cunning, mocking expression. At last he burst
into a long peal of laughter, so hearty, that I, just from seeing him,
began to laugh, without knowing why.

"Well, my lord," said he, "confess that you were frightened, when my
boys put the rope around your neck? The sky must have seemed to you then
as big as a sheep-skin. And if not for your servant, you would have
been swinging up there from the cross-beam; but at that very instant I
recognized the old owl. Would you have thought that the man who led you
to a shelter on the steppe was the great Czar himself?" Saying these
words, he assumed a grave and mysterious air. "You have been very
guilty," continued he, "but I have pardoned you, for having done me a
kindness, when I was obliged to hide from my enemies. I shall load you
with favors, when I shall have regained my empire. Do you promise to
serve me with zeal?"

The bandit's question and impudence made me smile.

"Why do you laugh?" said he, frowning, "do you not believe that I am the
great Czar? Answer frankly."

I was troubled. I could not recognize a vagabond as the emperor; to
call him an impostor to his face was to doom myself to death; and the
sacrifice which I was ready to make under the gibbet that morning,
before all the people, in the first flush of indignation, seemed now
a useless bravado. Pougatcheff awaited my answer in fierce silence. At
last (I still remember with satisfaction that duty triumphed over human
weakness) I replied to Pougatcheff.

"I will tell you the truth and let you decide. Should I r