that I have deserved of my masters for all my long service. I am an old
dog. I'm only fit, to keep pigs, and in addition to all this I am the
cause of your wound. No, my father, Petr' Andréjïtch, 'tis not I who am
to blame, it is rather the confounded '_mossoo_;' it was he who taught
you to fight with those iron spits, stamping your foot, as though by
ramming and stamping you could defend yourself from a bad man. It was,
indeed, worth while spending money upon a '_mossoo_' to teach you that."

But who could have taken the trouble to tell my father what I had done.
The General? He did not seem to trouble himself much about me; and,
indeed, Iván Kouzmitch had not thought it necessary to report my duel to
him. I could not think. My suspicions fell upon Chvabrine; he alone
could profit by this betrayal, which might end in my banishment from the
fort and my separation from the Commandant's family. I was going to tell
all to Marya Ivánofna when she met me on the doorstep.

"What has happened?" she said to me. "How pale you are!"

"All is at an end," replied I, handing her my father's letter.

In her turn she grew pale. After reading the letter she gave it me back,
and said, in a voice broken by emotion--

"It was not my fate. Your parents do not want me in your family; God's
will be done! God knows better than we do what is fit for us. There is
nothing to be done, Petr' Andréjïtch; may you at least be happy."

"It shall not be thus!" I exclaimed, seizing her hand. "You love me; I
am ready for anything. Let us go and throw ourselves at your parents'
feet. They are honest people, neither proud nor hard; they--they will