VIII. THE UNEXPECTED VISIT.


I stood in the vacant square, unable to collect my thoughts, disturbed
by so many terrible emotions. Uncertainty about Marie's fate tortured
me. Where is she? Is she concealed? Is her retreat safe? I went to
the Commandant's house. It was in frightful disorder; the chairs,
tables, presses had been burned up and the dishes were in fragments.
I rushed up the little stairs leading to Marie's room, which I entered
for the first time in my life. A lamp still burned before the shrine
which had enclosed the sacred objects revered by all true believers.
The clothes-press was empty, the bed broke up. The robbers had not
taken the little mirror hanging between the door and the window. What
had become of the mistress of this simple, virginal abode? A terrible
thought flashed through my mind. Marie in hands of the brigands!
My heart was torn, and I cried aloud: "Marie! Marie!" I heard a
rustle. Polacca, quite pale, came from her hiding-place behind the
clothes-press.

"Ah! Peter," said she, clasping her hands, "what a day! what horrors!"

"Marie?" I asked impatiently, "Marie--where is she?"

"The young lady is alive," said the maid, "concealed at Accoulina's,
at the house of the Greek priest."

"Great God!" I cried, with terror, "Pougatcheff is there!"

I rushed out of the room, made a bound into the street and ran wildly