Followed by the steward and the two midshipmen, the count proceeded to the stables.  Here, by the light of the lantern, they saw Paul standing, bound against the manger.  His features were ghastly pale and contracted with fear.  His conscience told him that his treachery had been discovered.  Alexis and the two servants were standing by, in the attitude of stolid indifference habitual to the Russian peasant.

“Demetri, you, Ivan, and Alexander will be the court to try this man whom I accuse of being a traitor, who has plotted against my life and liberty, who would have sent me to the gallows or Siberia, and seen my wife and children turned beggared and disgraced on the world.  You will form the court, and decide whether he is innocent or guilty.  If the latter, I will pass sentence.  Alexis and these English gentlemen are the witnesses against him.”

The midshipmen first, and then Alexis related the conversation they had overheard.

“You have heard the evidence,” the count said, turning to Demetri.  “What is your opinion? is this man innocent or guilty?”

“He is guilty,” the old man said, “of the basest treachery towards the best and kindest master in Russia, and he deserves to die.”

“And so say we,” said the other two together, looking with loathing horror at the prisoner; for in Russia for a serf to conspire against his master was a crime deemed almost equal in atrocity to parricide.

“You hear, Paul,” his master said, sternly looking at him; “you have been found guilty, and must die.  Alexis, you restrained yourself for my sake from taking the life of this wretch when you heard him plotting against me; you will now act as executioner.”

“Right willingly,” the man replied, taking down a huge axe which hung by the wall.

The wretched prisoner, who had hitherto maintained an absolute silence, now burst into an agony of cries, prayers for mercy, and curses.  Seeing in the unmoved countenances of his judges that nothing would avail, and that Alexis was approaching him; he screamed out a demand for a priest before he died.

“That is reasonable,” the count said.  “Go into the house, Demetri, and ask Papa Ivanovitch to come hither”—­for in the family of every Russian noble a priest resides, as a matter of course.

Presently the priest arrived with the steward.

“Papa Ivanovitch,” the count said, “you are, I know, devoted to the family in which your father and grandfather were priests before you.  You can, therefore, be trusted with our secret, a secret which will never go beyond those present.  You are here to shrive a man about to die.”

Then the count related the incidents of the discovery of the treachery of the prisoner, and the priest, who shared with the serfs their veneration and affection for their lord, could scarcely overcome his repugnance and horror of the prisoner so far as to approach and listen to him.