of whom I had had no news, filled me with delight. I danced about like a child. Zourine laughed and said, shrugging his shoulders:
"No, no; no good will come of it! Thou shalt marry—and thou shalt be lost!"
But a strange feeling envenomed my joy: I thought of the wretch whose hands had been steeped in the blood of so many innocent victims, and of the execution that awaited him, and felt disturbed in spite of myself. "Why," thought I with vexation, "why didst thou not run up against a bayonet, or fall under a shower of grape? Thou could'st not have done better." How was I to feel otherwise? I never should forget his merciful consideration towards me at one of the most terrible moments of my life, and to him I owed the deliverance of my betrothed out of the hands of the hateful Shvabrine.
Zourine granted me leave of absence. In a few days I was again to be in the bosom of my family. I was again to see my bride. An unexpected storm burst over me.
On the appointed day of my departure, at the very moment that I was about to start on my journey, Zourine entered my hut, holding a paper and looking much disturbed. Something pricked me at the heart. I feared I knew not what. He sent my servant out of the room, and said that he had some business to transact with me.
"What is it?" I asked, alarmed.
"An unpleasant matter," said he, giving me the paper. "Read what I have just received."
I read it: it was a confidential order, directing all
