"Well," said Pougatcheff, "tell me now the condition of your city?"

"It is, thank God, in a good state."

"A good condition," repeated the brigand, "when the people are dying
of hunger."

The usurper was right, but according to the duty imposed by my oath, I
affirmed that it was a false report, and that the fort was sufficiently
provisioned.

"You see he deceives you," interrupted the man with the riband. "All
the deserters are unanimous in saying that famine and pestilence are at
Orenbourg; that thistles are eaten as dainties there. If you wish to
hang Alexis, hang on the same gibbet this young fellow, that they may
be equal."

These words seemed to shake the chief. Happily the other wretch
opposed this view.

"Silence," said this powerful fellow. "You think of nothing but
hanging and strangling. It becomes _you_ to play the hero. To look
at you, no one knows where your soul is."

"And which of the saints are you?" replied the old man.

"Generals," said Pougatcheff, with dignity, "an end to your quarrels.
It would be no great loss if all the mangy dogs from Orenbourg were
dangling their legs under the same cross-beam; but it would be a
misfortune if our own good dogs should bite each other."