"Oh! my own father!" my poor follower was saying. "What need have you of
the death of this noble child? Let him go free, and you will get a good
ransom; but for an example and to frighten the rest, let them hang me,
an old man!"

Pugatchéf gave a signal; I was immediately unbound.

"Our father shows you mercy," they said to me. At this moment I cannot
say that I was much overjoyed at my deliverance, but I cannot say either
that I regretted it, for my feelings were too upset. I was again brought
before the usurper and forced to kneel at his feet. Pugatchéf held out
to me his muscular hand. "Kiss his hand! kiss his hand!" was shouted
around me. But rather would I have preferred the most cruel torture to
such an abasement.

"My father, Petr' Andréjïtch," whispered Savéliitch to me, and nudged me
with his elbow, "don't be obstinate. What does it matter? Spit and kiss
the hand of the rob--, kiss his hand!"

I did not stir. Pugatchéf withdrew his hand and said, smiling--

"Apparently his lordship is quite idiotic with joy; raise him."

I was helped up and left free. The infamous drama drew to a close.

The villagers began to swear fidelity. One after another they came near,
kissed the cross, and saluted the usurper. Then it came to the turn of
the soldiers of the garrison. The tailor of the company, armed with his
big blunt scissors, cut off their queues. They shook their heads and
touched their lips to Pugatchéf's hand; the latter told them they were