“Ungrateful boy!” cried the commander-in-chief; “your father—­you yourself, have been the enemy of the Russians.  Had it been during the Persian domination of your race, not even the ashes would have remained; but our Emperor was generous, and instead of punishing you he gave you lands.  And how did you repay his kindness?  By secret plot and open revolt!  This is not all:  you received and sheltered in your house a sworn foe to Russia; you permitted him, before your eyes, traitorously to slaughter a Russian officer.  In spite of all this, had you brought me a submissive head, I would have pardoned you, on account of your youth and the customs of your nation.  But you fled to the mountains, and with Suleiman Akhmet Khan you committed violence within the Russian bounds; you were beaten, and again you make an incursion with Djemboulat.  You cannot but know what fate awaits you.”

“I do,” coldly answered Ammalat Bek:  “I shall be shot.”

“No! a bullet is too honourable a death for a brigand,” cried the angry general:  “a cart with the shafts turned up—­a cord round your neck—­that is the fitting reward.”

“It is all one how a man dies,” replied Ammalat, “provided he dies speedily.  I ask one favour:  do not let me be tormented with a trial:  that is thrice death.”

“Thou deservest a hundred deaths, audacious! but I promise you.  Be it so:  to-morrow thou shalt die.  Assemble a court-martial,” continued the commander-in-chief, turning to his staff:  “the fact is clear, the proof is before your eyes, and let all be finished at one sitting, before my departure.”

He waved his hand, and the condemned prisoner was removed.

The fate of this fine young man touched us all.  Every body was whispering about him; every body pitying him; the more, that there appeared no means of saving him.  Every one knew well the necessity of punishing this double treason, and the inflexibility of Alexei Petrovitch in matters of this publicity:  and, therefore, no one dared to intercede for the unfortunate culprit.  The commander-in-chief was unusually thoughtful for the remainder of the evening, and the party separated early.  I determined to speak a word for him—­“Perhaps,” I thought, “I may obtain some commutation of the sentence.”  I opened one of the curtains of the tent, and advanced softly into the presence of Alexei Petrovitch.  He was sitting alone, resting both arms on a table; before him lay a despatch for the Emperor, half finished, and which he was writing without any previous copy.  Alexei Petrovitch knew me as an officer of the suite, and we had been acquainted since the battle of Kulm.  At that time he had been very kind to me, and therefore my visit was not surprising to him.  “I see—­I see, Evstafii Ivanovitch, you have a design upon my heart!  In general you come in as if you were marching up to a battery, but now you hardly walk on tip-toe.  This is not for nothing.  I am sure you are come with a request about Ammalat.”