Poltorátsky entered the bedroom, which he shared with his comrade Tíkhonov.
“Well, have you lost?” asked Tíkhonov, waking up.
“No, as it happens, I haven’t. I’ve won seventeen rubles, and we drank a bottle of Cliquot!”
“And you’ve looked at Márya Vasílevna?”
“Yes, and I have looked at Márya Vasílevna,” repeated Poltorátsky.
“It will soon be time to get up,” said Tíkhonov. “We are to start at six.”
“Vovílo!” shouted Poltorátsky, “see that you wake me up properly tomorrow at five!”
“How can I wake you, if you fight?”
“I tell you you’re to wake me! Do you hear?”
“All right.” Vovílo went out, taking Poltorátsky’s boots and clothes with him. Poltorátsky got into bed and, and smiling, smoked a cigarette and put out his candle. In the dark he saw before him the smiling face of Márya Vasílevna.
The Vorontsóvs did not go to bed at once. When the visitors had left, Márya Vasílevna went up to her husband, and standing in front of him, said severely—
“Eh bien! vous allez me dire ce que c’est.”12
“Mais, ma chère …”
“Pas de ‘ma chère’! C’etait un émissaire, n’est-ce pas?”
“Quand même, je ne puis pas vous le dire.”
“Vous ne pouvez pas? Alors, c’est moi qui vais vous le dire!”
“Vous?”
“It was Hadji Murád, wasn’t it?” said Márya Vasílevna, who had for some days past heard of the negotiations and thought that Hadji Murád himself had been to see her husband. Vorontsóv could not altogether deny this, but disappointed her by saying that it was not Hadji Murád himself but only an emissary to announce that Hadji Murád would come to meet him next day, at the spot where a wood-cutting expedition had been arranged.
In the monotonous life of the fortress, the young Vorontsóvs—both husband and wife—were glad of this occurrence; and when, after speaking of the pleasure the news would give his father, they went to bed, it was already past two o’clock.
IV
After the three sleepless nights he had passed flying from the murids Shamil had sent to capture him, Hadji Murád fell asleep as soon as Sado, having bid him goodnight, had gone out of the sáklya. He slept fully dressed, with his head on his hand, his elbow sinking deep into the red down-cushions his host had arranged for him.
At a little distance, by the wall, slept Eldár. He lay on his back, his strong young limbs stretched out so that his high chest, with the black cartridge-pouches sewn into the front of his white Circassian coat, was higher than his freshly shaven, blue-gleaming head, which had rolled off the pillow and was thrown back. His upper lip, on which a little soft down was just appearing, pouted like a child’s, now contracting and now expanding, as though he were sipping something. He, like Hadji Murád, slept with pistol and dagger in his belt. The sticks in the grate burnt low, and a nightlight in a niche in the wall gleamed faintly.
In the middle of the night the floor of the guest-chamber creaked, and Hadji Murád immediately rose, putting his hand to his pistol. Sado entered, treading softly on the earthen floor.
“What is it?” asked Hadji Murád, as if he had not been asleep at all.
“We must think,” replied Sado, squatting down in front of him. “A woman from her roof saw you arrive, and told her husband, and now the whole aoul knows. A neighbor has just been to tell my wife that the Elders have assembled in the mosque and want to detain you.”
“I must be off!” said Hadji Murád.
“The horses are saddled,” said Sado, quickly leaving the sáklya.
“Eldár!” whispered Hadji Murád; and Eldár, hearing his name, and above all his master’s voice, leapt to his feet, setting his cap straight.
Hadji Murád donned his weapons and then his burka. Eldár did the same, and they both went silently out of the sáklya into the penthouse. The black-eyed boy brought their horses. Hearing the clatter of hoofs on the hard-beaten road, someone stuck his head out of the door of a neighboring sáklya, and, lattering with his wooden shoes, a man ran up the hill towards the mosque. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly in the black sky, so that the outlines of the sáklya roofs could be seen in the darkness, and rising above the other buildings, the mosque with its minarets in the upper part of the village. From the mosque came a hum of voices.
Hadji Murád, quickly seizing his gun, placed his foot in the narrow stirrup, and, silently and easily throwing his body across, swung himself onto the high cushion of the saddle.
“May God reward you!” he said, addressing his host, while his right foot felt instinctively for the stirrup, and with his whip he lightly touched the lad who held his horse, as a sign that he should let go. The boy stepped aside; and the horse, as if it knew what it had to do, started at a brisk pace down the lane towards the principal street. Eldár rode behind him. Sado in his sheepskin followed, almost running, swinging his arms and crossing now to one side and now to the other of the narrow side-street. At the place where the streets met, first one moving shadow and then another appeared in the road.
“Stop … who’s that? Stop!” shouted a voice, and several men blocked the path.
Instead of stopping, Hadji Murád drew his pistol from his belt, and increasing his speed rode straight at those who blocked the way. They separated, and without looking round he started down the road at a swift canter. Eldár followed him at a sharp trot. Two shots cracked behind them and two bullets whistled past without hitting either Hadji Murád or Eldár. Hadji Murád continued riding at the same pace, but having gone some three hundred
