"The young lady is alive," replied Polashka; "she is hidden at Akoulina
Pamphilovna's."

"In the pope's house!" I exclaimed, affrighted. "Good God! Pugatchéf is
there!"

I rushed out of the room, in two jumps I was in the street and running
wildly towards the pope's house. From within there resounded songs,
shouts, and bursts of laughter; Pugatchéf was at the table with his
companions. Polashka had followed me; I sent her secretly to call aside
Akoulina Pamphilovna. The next minute the pope's wife came out into the
ante-room, an empty bottle in her hand.

"In heaven's name where is Marya Ivánofna?" I asked, with indescribable
agitation.

"She is in bed, the little dove," replied the pope's wife, "in my bed,
behind the partition. Ah! Petr' Andréjïtch, a misfortune very nearly
happened. But, thank God, all has passed happily over. The villain had
scarcely sat down to table before the poor darling began to moan. I
nearly died of fright. He heard her."

"'Who is that moaning, old woman?' said he.

"I saluted the robber down to the ground.

"'My niece, Tzar; she has been ill and in bed for more than a week.'

"'And your niece, is she young?'