of the prisoners. All the crowd diverged in that direction, and our
keepers dragged us thither.

Pugatchéf was seated in an armchair on the threshold of the Commandant's
house. He wore an elegant Cossack caftan, embroidered down the seams. A
high cap of marten sable, ornamented with gold tassels, came closely
down over his flashing eyes. His face did not seem unknown to me. The
Cossack chiefs surrounded him. Father Garasim, pale and trembling, was
standing, cross in hand, at the foot of the steps, and seemed to be
silently praying for the victims brought before him. In the square a
gallows was being hastily erected. When we came near, some Bashkirs
drove back the crowd, and we were presented to Pugatchéf.

The bells ceased clanging, and the deepest silence reigned again.

"Where is the Commandant?" asked the usurper. Our "_ouriadnik_" came
forward and pointed out Iván Kouzmitch. Pugatchéf looked fiercely upon
the old man and said to him, "How was it you dared to oppose me, your
rightful Emperor?"

The Commandant, enfeebled by his wound, collected his remaining
strength, and replied, in a resolute tone--

"You are not my Emperor; you are a usurper and a robber!"

Pugatchéf frowned and waved his white handkerchief. Several Cossacks
immediately seized the old Commandant and dragged him away to the
gallows. Astride on the crossbeam, sat the disfigured Bashkir who had
been cross-examined on the preceding evening; he held a rope in his
hand, and I saw the next moment poor Iván Kouzmitch swinging in the air.