VII.  THE ASSAULT.

I could not sleep during the night, and did not even undress.  I intended to be at the fortress gates at day-dawn to see Marie set out, and bid her a last adieu.  I was completely changed.  Excitement was less painful than my former melancholy, for with the grief of separation there mingled vague but secret hope, impatient expectation of danger, and a high ambition.  Night passed quickly.  I was on the point of going out, when my door opened, and the Corporal entered, saying that our Cossacks had deserted the fortress during the night, forcing with them Zoulac, the Christian Kalmouk, and that all around our ramparts, unknown people were riding.  The idea that Marie had not been able to get off, froze me with terror.  I gave, in haste, a few instructions to the Corporal, and ran to the Commandant’s.

Day was breaking.  I was going down the street swiftly when I heard my name called.  I stopped.

“Where are you going, dare I ask?” said Ignatius, catching up with me; “the Captain is on the rampart and sends me for you.  Pougatcheff is here.”

“Is Marie gone?” I said, shuddering.

“She was not ready in time; communication with Orenbourg is cut off; the fortress is surrounded.  Peter, this is bad work.”

We went to the rampart—­a small height formed by nature and fortified by a palisade.  The garrison was there under arms.  The cannon had been dragged there the evening before.  The Commandant was walking up and down before his little troop—­the approach of danger had restored to the old warrior extraordinary vigor.  On the steppe, not far from the fortress, there were some twenty horsemen, who looked like Cossacks; but amongst them were a few Bashkirs, easily recognized by their caps and quivers.  The Commandant passed before the ranks of his small army and said to the soldiers:  “Come, boys, let us fight today for our mother the Empress, and show the world that we are brave men and faithful to our oath.”

The soldiers, with loud shouts, testified their good will.  Alexis was standing by me examining the enemy.  The people on the steppe, seeing, no doubt, some movement in our fort, collected in groups and spoke amongst themselves.  The Commandant ordered Ignatius to point the cannon upon them, he himself applying the light.  The ball whistled over their heads without doing them any harm.  The horsemen dispersed at once, setting off on a gallop, and the steppe became deserted.  At this moment Basilia appeared on the rampart, followed by Marie, who would not leave her.

“Well,” said the Captain’s wife, “how is the battle going?  Where is the enemy?”

“The enemy is not far off,” replied Ivan, “but if God wills it, all will be well; and thou, Marie, art thou afraid?”

“No, papa,” said Marie, “I am more afraid by myself in the house.”  She glanced at me, and tried to smile.  I pressed my sword, remembering that I had received it from her on the preceding eve, as if for her defense.  My heart was on fire.  I fancied myself her knight, and longed to prove myself worthy of her trust.  I awaited the decisive moment impatiently.