CHAPTER VIII.

THE UNEXPECTED VISIT.


The square remained empty. I stood in the same place, unable to collect
my thoughts, disturbed by so many terrible events.

My uncertainty about Marya Ivánofna's fate tormented me more than I can
say. Where was she? What had become of her? Had she had time to hide
herself? Was her place of refuge safe and sure? Full of these oppressive
thoughts, I went to the Commandant's house. All was empty. The chairs,
the tables, the presses were burned, and the crockery in bits; the
place was in dreadful disorder. I quickly ran up the little stair which
led to Marya's room, where I was about to enter for the first time in my
life.

Her bed was topsy-turvy, the press open and ransacked. A lamp still
burned before the "_kivott_"[56] equally empty; but a small
looking-glass hanging between the door and window had not been taken
away. What had become of the inmate of this simple maiden's cell? A
terrible apprehension crossed my mind. I thought of Marya in the hands
of the robbers. My heart failed me; I burst into tears and murmured the
name of my loved one. At this moment I heard a slight noise, and
Polashka, very pale, came out from behind the press.

"Oh, Petr' Andréjïtch," said she, wringing her hands; "what a day, what
horrors!"

"Marya Ivánofna," cried I, impatiently, "where is Marya Ivánofna?"