Iván Kouzmitch was one of the most upright and sincere of men he could
not think of any other way than that which he had already employed on a
previous occasion.

"Do you know, Vassilissa Igorofna," said he to her, while clearing his
throat once or twice, "it is said that Father Garosim has received from
the town--"

"Hold your tongue," interrupted his wife; "you want again to call a
council of war, and talk without me about Emelian Pugatchéf; but you
will not deceive me this time."

Iván Kouzmitch opened his eyes wide.

"Well, little mother," said he, "if you know all, stay; there is nothing
more to be done, we will talk before you."

"Yes, you are quite right, my little father," rejoined she; "it is of
no use your trying to play the sly fox. Send for the officers."

We again met. Iván Kouzmitch read to us, before his wife, Pugatchéf's
proclamation, drawn up by some illiterate Cossack. The robber proclaimed
his intention of marching directly upon our fort, inviting the Cossacks
and the soldiers to join him, and counselling the chiefs not to
withstand him, threatening them, should they do so, with the utmost
torture.

The proclamation was written in coarse but emphatic terms, and was
likely to produce a great impression on the minds of simple people.