A Hero of Our Time [9]
beside him. He didn't touch it, but lay with his face to the ground like a dead man. Would you believe it? He re- mained lying like that throughout the rest of that day and the following night! It was only on the next morning that he came to the fortress and proceeded to ask that the name of the thief should be told him. The sentry who had ob- served Azamat untying the horse and galloping away on him did not see any necessity for con- cealment. At the name of Azamat, Kazbich's eyes flashed, and he set off to the village where Azamat's father lived."
[1] "No! Russian -- bad, bad!"
"And what about the father?"
"Ah, that was where the trick came in! Kazbich could not find him; he had gone away somewhere for five or six days; otherwise, how could Azamat have succeeded in carrying off Bela?
"And, when the father returned, there was neither daughter nor son to be found. A wily rogue, Azamat! He understood, you see, that he would lose his life if he was caught. So, from that time, he was never seen again; probably he joined some gang of Abreks and laid down his turbulent life on the other side of the Terek or the Kuban. It would have served him right!" . . .
CHAPTER V
"I CONFESS that, for my part, I had trouble enough over the business. So soon as ever I learned that the Circassian girl was with Grigori Aleksandrovich, I put on my epaulettes and sword and went to see him.
"He was lying on the bed in the outer room, with one hand under his head and the other holding a pipe which had gone out. The door leading to the inner room was locked, and there was no key in the lock. I observed all that in a moment. . . I coughed and rapped my heels against the threshold, but he pretended not to hear.
"'Ensign!' I said, as sternly as I could. 'Do you not see that I have come to you?'
"'Ah, good morning, Maksim Maksimych! Won't you have a pipe?' he answered, without rising.
"'Excuse me, I am not Maksim Maksimych. I am the staff-captain.'
"'It's all the same! Won't you have some tea? If you only knew how I am being tortured with anxiety.'
"'I know all,' I answered, going up to the bed.
"'So much the better,' he said. 'I am not in a narrative mood.'
"'Ensign, you have committed an offence for which I may have to answer as well as you.'
"'Oh, that'll do. What's the harm? You know, we've gone halves in everything.'
"'What sort of a joke do you think you are playing? Your sword, please!' . . .
"'Mitka, my sword!'
"'Mitka brought the sword. My duty dis- charged, I sat down on the bed, facing Pechorin, and said: 'Listen here, Grigori Aleksandrovich, you must admit that this is a bad business.'
"'What is?'
"'Why, that you have carried off Bela. . . Ah, it is that beast Azamat! . . . Come, con- fess!' I said.
"'But, supposing I am fond of her?' . . .
"Well, what could I say to that? . . . I was nonplussed. After a short interval of silence, however, I told him that if Bela's father were to claim her he would have to give her up.
"'Not at all!'
"'But he will get to know that she is here.'
"'How?'
"Again I was nonplussed.
"'Listen, Maksim Maksimych,' said Pechorin, rising to his feet. 'You're a kind-hearted man, you know; but, if we give that savage back his daughter, he will cut her throat or sell her. The deed is done, and the only thing we can do now is not to go out of our way to spoil matters. Leave Bela with me and keep my sword!'
"'Show her to me, though,' I said.
"'She is behind that door. Only I wanted, myself, to see her to-day and wasn't able to. She sits in the corner, muffled in her veil, and neither speaks nor looks up -- timid as a wild chamois! I have hired the wife of our dukhan- keeper: she knows the Tartar language, and will look after Bela and accustom her to the idea that she belongs to me -- for she shall belong to no one else!' he added, banging his fist on the table.
"I assented to that too. . . What could I do? There are some people with whom you absolutely have to agree."
"Well?" I asked Maksim Maksimych.
[1] "No! Russian -- bad, bad!"
"And what about the father?"
"Ah, that was where the trick came in! Kazbich could not find him; he had gone away somewhere for five or six days; otherwise, how could Azamat have succeeded in carrying off Bela?
"And, when the father returned, there was neither daughter nor son to be found. A wily rogue, Azamat! He understood, you see, that he would lose his life if he was caught. So, from that time, he was never seen again; probably he joined some gang of Abreks and laid down his turbulent life on the other side of the Terek or the Kuban. It would have served him right!" . . .
CHAPTER V
"I CONFESS that, for my part, I had trouble enough over the business. So soon as ever I learned that the Circassian girl was with Grigori Aleksandrovich, I put on my epaulettes and sword and went to see him.
"He was lying on the bed in the outer room, with one hand under his head and the other holding a pipe which had gone out. The door leading to the inner room was locked, and there was no key in the lock. I observed all that in a moment. . . I coughed and rapped my heels against the threshold, but he pretended not to hear.
"'Ensign!' I said, as sternly as I could. 'Do you not see that I have come to you?'
"'Ah, good morning, Maksim Maksimych! Won't you have a pipe?' he answered, without rising.
"'Excuse me, I am not Maksim Maksimych. I am the staff-captain.'
"'It's all the same! Won't you have some tea? If you only knew how I am being tortured with anxiety.'
"'I know all,' I answered, going up to the bed.
"'So much the better,' he said. 'I am not in a narrative mood.'
"'Ensign, you have committed an offence for which I may have to answer as well as you.'
"'Oh, that'll do. What's the harm? You know, we've gone halves in everything.'
"'What sort of a joke do you think you are playing? Your sword, please!' . . .
"'Mitka, my sword!'
"'Mitka brought the sword. My duty dis- charged, I sat down on the bed, facing Pechorin, and said: 'Listen here, Grigori Aleksandrovich, you must admit that this is a bad business.'
"'What is?'
"'Why, that you have carried off Bela. . . Ah, it is that beast Azamat! . . . Come, con- fess!' I said.
"'But, supposing I am fond of her?' . . .
"Well, what could I say to that? . . . I was nonplussed. After a short interval of silence, however, I told him that if Bela's father were to claim her he would have to give her up.
"'Not at all!'
"'But he will get to know that she is here.'
"'How?'
"Again I was nonplussed.
"'Listen, Maksim Maksimych,' said Pechorin, rising to his feet. 'You're a kind-hearted man, you know; but, if we give that savage back his daughter, he will cut her throat or sell her. The deed is done, and the only thing we can do now is not to go out of our way to spoil matters. Leave Bela with me and keep my sword!'
"'Show her to me, though,' I said.
"'She is behind that door. Only I wanted, myself, to see her to-day and wasn't able to. She sits in the corner, muffled in her veil, and neither speaks nor looks up -- timid as a wild chamois! I have hired the wife of our dukhan- keeper: she knows the Tartar language, and will look after Bela and accustom her to the idea that she belongs to me -- for she shall belong to no one else!' he added, banging his fist on the table.
"I assented to that too. . . What could I do? There are some people with whom you absolutely have to agree."
"Well?" I asked Maksim Maksimych.