crockery lay broken; everything was strewn about. I ran up the little stair which led to Maria Ivanovna's room, and entered it for the first time. I saw her bed, which the villains had searched; the cupboard had been broken open and robbed of its contents. The lamp was still burning before the empty kyvott. A little mirror hanging on the wall had also remained uninjured. Where was the mistress of this simple, virginal chamber? A fearful thought flashed across me: I fancied her in the hands of the robbers. My heart ached. I burst into bitter, bitter tears, and called aloud the name of my beloved one. I heard a slight noise, and Paláshka, pale and trembling, issued from behind the cupboard.
"Ah! Piotr Andrevitch!" said she, raising her arms. "What a day! what horrors——"
"And Maria Ivanovna," I asked, impatiently; "what about Maria Ivanovna?"
"The young lady is alive," answered Paláshka. "She is hiding at Akoulina Pamphylovna's."
"At the priest's house!" exclaimed I with terror. "My God! Pougatcheff is there."
I rushed out of the room, reached the street in an instant, and hastened, regardless of everything, to the priest's house. Noises, laughter, and songs issued from it. Pougatcheff was feasting with his companions. Paláshka had followed me. I bid her send Akoulina Pamphylovna to me secretly. In a few minutes the
- A glass case made to contain images, and thus becoming a shrine.—Tr.