“It is not true!” exclaimed Marie.

“What! not true?” said the lady, flushing to the eyes.

“Before God, it is not true.  I know all.  I will tell you all.  It was for me only that exposed himself to all these misfortunes.  If he did not clear himself before his judges, it was because he would not drag me before the authorities.”  Marie then related with warmth all that the reader knows.

“Where do you lodge?” asked the lady, when the young girl had finished her recital.  Upon hearing that she was staying with the postmaster’s wife, she nodded, and said with a smile:  “Ah!  I know her.  Adieu! tell no one of our meeting.  I hope you will not have long to wait for the answer to your petition.”

She rose and went away by a covered path.  Marie went back to Anna’s, full of fair hope.  The postmaster’s wife was surprised that Marie took so early a promenade, which might in Autumn, prove injurious to a young girl’s health.  She brought the Somovar, and with her cup of tea was going to relate one of her interminable stories, when a carriage with the imperial escutcheon stopped before the door.  A lackey, wearing the imperial livery, entered and announced that her Majesty deigned to order to her presence the daughter of Captain Mironoff!

“Ah!” exclaimed Anna, “the Empress orders you to Court!  How did she know you were with me?  You can not present yourself—­you do not know how to walk in courtly fashion!  I ought to go with you.  Shall I not send to the doctor’s wife and get her yellow dress with flounces, for you?”

The lackey declared that he had orders to take Marie alone, just as she was.  Anna did not dare to disobey, and Marie set out.  She had a presentiment that her destiny was now to be decided.  Her heart beat violently.  In a few minutes the carriage was at the palace, and Marie, having crossed a long suite of apartments, vacant and sumptuous, entered the boudoir of the Empress.  The nobles who surrounded their sovereign respectfully made way for the young girl.

The Empress, in whom Marie recognized the lady of the garden, said, graciously:  “I am pleased to be able to grant your prayer.  Convinced of the innocence of your betrothed, I have arranged everything.  Here is a letter for your future father-in-law.”

Marie, in tears, fell at the feet of the Empress, who raised her up and kissed her, saying: 

“I know that you are not rich; but I have to acquit myself of a debt to the daughter of a brave man, Captain Mironoff.”  Treating Marie with tenderness, the Empress dismissed her.  That day Marie set out for my father’s country-seat, not having even glanced at Saint Petersburg.

Here terminate the memoirs of Peter Grineff.  We know by family tradition that he was set free about the end of the year 1774.  We know too, that he was present at the execution of Pougatcheff, who, recognizing him in the crowd, gave him one last sign with the head which, a moment after, was shown to the people, bleeding and inanimate.