"Well, little mother," rejoined Ivan Kouzmitch, "stay if you like, since
you reckon so much on our fort. But what are we to do with Masha? It is
all right if we weary him out or if we be succoured. But if the robbers
take the fort?"
"Well, then--"
But here Vassilissa Igorofna could only stammer and become silent,
choked by emotion.
"No, Vassilissa Igorofna," resumed the Commandant, who remarked that his
words had made a great impression on his wife, perhaps for the first
time in her life; "it is not proper for Masha to stay here. Let us send
her to Orenburg to her godmother. There are enough soldiers and cannons
there, and the walls are stone. And I should even advise you to go away
thither, for though you be old yet think on what will befall you if the
fort be taken by assault."
"Well! well!" said the wife, "we will send away Masha; but don't ask me
to go away, and don't think to persuade me, for I will do no such thing.
It will not suit me either in my old age to part from you and go to seek
a lonely grave in a strange land. We have lived together; we will die
together."
"And you are right," said the Commandant. "Let us see, there is no time
to lose. Go and get Masha ready for her journey; to-morrow we will start
her off at daybreak, and we will even give her an escort, though, to
tell the truth, we have none too many people here. But where is she?"
"At Akoulina Pamphilovna's," answered his wife. "She turned sick when
she heard of the taking of Nijneosern; I dread lest she should fall
ill. Oh! God in heaven! that we should have lived to see this!"
Vassilissa Igorofna went away to make ready for her daughter's
departure.
The council at the Commandant's still continued, but I no longer took
any part in it. Marya Ivanofna reappeared for supper, pale and her eyes
red. We supped in silence, and we rose from table earlier than usual.
Each of us returned to his quarters after bidding good-bye to the whole
family. I purposely forgot my sword, and came back to fetch it. I felt I
should find Marya alone; in fact, she met me in the porch, and handed me
my sword.
"Good-bye, Petr' Andrejitch," she said to me, crying; "they are sending
me to Orenburg. Keep well and happy. Mayhap God will allow us to see one
another again, if not--"
She began to sob. I pressed her in my arms.
"God be with you, my angel," I said to her. "My darling, my loved one,
whatever befall me, rest assured that my last thought and my last prayer
will be for you."