Lying in darkness, he soon fell asleep.

The next morning Pougatcheff sent for me. Before his door stood
a kibitka, with three horses abreast. The street was crowded.
Pougatcheff, whom I met in the entry of his hut, was dressed for a
journey, in a pelisse and Kirghis cap. His guests of the previous
night surrounded him, and wore a look of submission which contrasted
strongly with what I had seen on the preceding evening. Pougatcheff
bade me good-morning gaily, and ordered me to sit beside him in the
kibitka. We took our places.

"To the fortress of Belogorsk," said Pougatcheff to the robust Tartar,
who, standing, drove his horses. My heart beat violently. The Tartar
horses shot off, the bells tinkled, the kibitka flew over the snow.

"Stop! stop!" cried a voice I knew too well. "O Peter! do not abandon
me in my old age, in the midst of the rob--"

"Ah, you old owl!" said Pougatcheff, "sit up there in front."

"Thanks, Czar, may God give you a long life."

The horses set off again. The people in the streets stopped and bowed
low, as the usurper passed. Pougatcheff saluted right and left. In an
instant we were out of the town, taking our way over a well-defined
road. I was silent. Pougatcheff broke in upon my reverie. "Why
so silent, my lord?" said he.

"I can not help thinking," said I, "of the chain of events. I am an
officer, noble, yesterday at war with you; today I ride in the same