Suddenly coming from behind a hill, eight versts from the fortress, appeared new groups of horsemen, and soon the whole steppe was covered by men armed with lances and arrows.  Amongst them, wearing a scarlet cafetan, sword in hand, could be distinguished a man mounted on a white horse.  This was Pougatcheff himself.  He halted, was surrounded by his followers, and very soon, probably by his orders, four men left the crowd and galloped to our ramparts.  We recognized among them our traitors.  One of them raised a sheet of paper above his cap and another carried on the point of his lance Zoulac’s head, which he threw to us over the palisade.  The poor Kalmouk’s head rolled at the feet of the Commandant.

The traitors shouted to us:  “Do not fire, come out and receive the Czar.  The Czar is here.”

“Fire!” shouted the Captain as sole reply.

The soldiers discharged their pieces.  The Cossack who held the letter, tottered and fell from his horse; the others fled.  I glanced at Marie.  Petrified by horror at the sight of the Kalmouk’s head, dizzy from the noise of the discharge, she seemed lifeless.  The Commandant ordered the Corporal to take the letter from the hand of the dead Cossack.  Ignatius sallied out and returned, leading by the bridle the man’s horse.  He gave the letter to Ivan, who read it in a low voice and tore it up.  Meantime the rebels were preparing for an attack.  Very soon balls whistled about our ears, and arrows fell around us, buried deep in the ground.

“Basilia,” said the Captain, “women have nothing to do here; take away Marie; you see the child is more dead than alive.”  Basilia, whom the sound of the balls had rendered more yielding, glanced at the steppe where much movement was visible, and said:  “Ivan, life and death are from God; bless Marie; come, child, to thy father.”

Pale and trembling, Marie came and knelt, bending low before him.  The old Commandant made three times the sign of the cross over her, then raising, kissed her, and said in a broken voice:  “Oh! my dear Marie! pray to God, he will never abandon thee.  If an honest man seek thee, may God give you both love and goodness.  Live together as we have lived; my wife and I. Adieu! my dear Marie!  Basilia, take her away quickly.”

Marie put her arms around his neck and sobbed.  The Captain’s wife, in tears, said:  “Embrace us also; adieu, Ivan; if ever I have crossed you, forgive me.”

“Adieu! adieu! my dear,” said the Commandant, kissing his old companion.  “Come! enough! go to the house, and if you have time dress Marie in her best; let her wear a sarafan, embroidered in gold, as is our custom for burial.”