“And the red one! He squints at you like a beast!”
“Ugh! He must be a hound!”
They had all specially noticed the red one. Where the wood-felling was going on, the soldiers nearest to the road ran out to look. Their officer shouted to them, but Vorontsóv stopped him.
“Let them have a look at their old friend.”
“You know who that is?” he added, turning to the nearest soldier, and speaking the words slowly with his English accent.
“No, your Excellency.”
“Hadji Murád. … Heard of him?”
“How could we help it, your Excellency? We’ve beaten him many a time!”
“Yes, and we’ve had it hot from him too.”
“Yes, that’s right, your Excellency,” answered the soldier, pleased to be talking with his chief.
Hadji Murád understood that they were speaking about him, and smiled brightly with his eyes.
Vorontsóv, in the most cheerful mood, returned to the fort.
VI
Young Vorontsóv was much pleased that it was he, and no one else, who had succeeded in winning over and receiving Hadji Murád—next to Shamil Russia’s chief and most active enemy. There was only one unpleasant thing about it: General Meller-Zakomélsky was in command of the army at Vozdvízhenski, and the whole affair ought to have been carried out through him; and as Vorontsóv had done everything himself without reporting it, there might be some unpleasantness; and this thought somewhat interfered with his satisfaction. On reaching his house he entrusted Hadji Murád’s henchmen to the regimental adjutant, and himself showed Hadji Murád into the house.
Princess Márya Vasílevna, elegantly dressed and smiling, and her little son, a handsome curly-headed, six-year-old boy, met Hadji Murád in the drawing room. The latter placed his hands on his heart, and through the interpreter—who had entered with him—said with solemnity that he regarded himself as the Prince’s kunák, since the Prince had brought him into his own house; and that a kunák’s whole family was as sacred as the kunák himself.
Hadji Murád’s appearance and manners pleased Márya Vasílevna; and the fact that he flushed when she held out her large white hand to him, inclined her still more in his favor. She invited him to sit down; and having asked him whether he drank coffee, had some served. He, however, declined it when it came. He understood a little Russian, but could not speak it. When something was said which he could not understand he smiled, and his smile pleased Márya Vasílevna, just as it had pleased Poltorátsky. The curly-headed, keen-eyed little boy (whom his mother called Búlka) standing beside her did not take his eyes off Hadji Murád, whom he had always heard spoken of as a great warrior.
Leaving Hadji Murád with his wife, Vorontsóv went to his office to do what was necessary about reporting the fact of Hadji Murád’s having come over to the Russians. When he had written a report to the general in command of the left flank—General Kozlóvsky—at Grózny, and a letter to his father, Vorontsóv hurried home, afraid that his wife might be vexed with him for forcing on her this terrible stranger, who had to be treated in such a way that he should not take offense, and yet not too kindly. But his fears were needless. Hadji Murád was sitting in an armchair with little Búlka, Vorontsóv’s stepson, on his knee; and with bent head was listening attentively to the interpreter, who was translating to him the words of the laughing Márya Vasílevna. Márya Vasílevna was telling him that if every time a kunák admired anything of his he made him a present of it, he would soon have to go about like Adam. …
When the Prince entered, Hadji Murád rose at once and, surprising and offending Búlka by putting him off his knee, changed the playful expression of his face to a stern and serious one; and he only sat down again when Vorontsóv had himself taken a seat.
Continuing the conversation, he answered Márya Vasílevna by telling her that it was a law among his people that anything your kunák admired must be presented to him.
“Thy son, kunák!” he said in Russian, patting the curly head of the boy, who had again climbed on his knee.
“He is delightful, your brigand!” said Márya Vasílevna, to her husband in French. “Búlka has been admiring his dagger, and he has given it to him.”
Búlka showed the dagger to his father. “C’est un objet de prix!”14 added she.
“Il faudra trouver l’occasion de lui faire cadeau,”15 said Vorontsóv.
Hadji Murád, his eyes turned down, sat stroking the boy’s curly hair and saying: “Dzhigit, dzhigit!”
“A beautiful, beautiful dagger,” said Vorontsóv, half drawing out the sharpened blade, which had a ridge down the center. “I thank thee!”
“Ask him what I can do for him,” he said to the interpreter.
The interpreter translated, and Hadji Murád at once replied that he wanted nothing, but that he begged to be taken to a place where he could say his prayers.
Vorontsóv called his valet, and told him to do what Hadji Murád desired.
As soon as Hadji Murád was alone in the room allotted to him his face altered. The pleased expression, now kindly and now stately, vanished, and a look of anxiety showed itself. Vorontsóv had received him far better than Hadji Murád had expected. But the better the reception the less did Hadji Murád trust Vorontsóv and his officers. He feared everything: that he might be seized, chained, and sent to Siberia, or simply killed; and therefore he was on his guard. He asked Eldár, when the latter entered his room, where his murids had been put, and whether their arms had been taken from them, and where the horses were. Eldár reported that the horses were in the Prince’s stables; that the men had been placed in a barn; that they retained their arms,
