No More Learning

I long watched the steppe over which his _"kibitka"_ was rapidly
gliding.

The crowd dwindled away; Chvabrine disappeared. I went back to the
pope's house, where all was being made ready for our departure. Our
little luggage had been put in the old vehicle of the Commandant. In a
moment the horses were harnessed.

Marya went to bid a last farewell to the tomb of her parents, buried
behind the church.

I wished to escort her there, but she begged me to let her go alone, and
soon came back, weeping quiet tears.

Father Garasim and his wife came to the door to see us off. We took our
seats, three abreast, inside the "_kibitka_," and Saveliitch again
perched in front.

"Good-bye, Marya Ivanofna, our dear dove; good-bye, Petr' Andrejitch,
our gay goshawk! " the pope's wife cried to us. "A lucky journey to you,
and may God give you abundant happiness! "

We started. At the Commandant's window I saw Chvabrine standing, with a
face of dark hatred.

I did not wish to triumph meanly over a humbled enemy, and looked away
from him.
At last we passed the principal gate, and for ever left Fort Belogorsk.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE ARREST.


Reunited in so marvellous a manner to the young girl who, that very
morning even, had caused me so much unhappy disquiet, I could not
believe in my happiness, and I deemed all that had befallen me a dream.

Marya looked sometimes thoughtfully upon me and sometimes upon the road,
and did not seem either to have recovered her senses. We kept
silence--our hearts were too weary with emotion.

At the end of two hours we had already reached the neighbouring fort,
which also belonged to Pugatchef. We changed horses there.

By the alertness with which we were served and the eager zeal of the
bearded Cossack whom Pugatchef had appointed Commandant, I saw that,
thanks to the talk of the postillion who had driven us, I was taken for
a favourite of the master.

When we again set forth it was getting dark. We were approaching a
little town where, according to the bearded Commandant, there ought to
be a strong detachment on the march to join the usurper.

The sentries stopped us, and to the shout, "Who goes there? " our
postillion replied aloud--

"The Tzar's gossip, travelling with his good woman. "

Immediately a party of Russian hussars surrounded us with awful oaths.

"Get out, devil's gossip! " a Quartermaster with thick moustachios said
to me.