"No, Vassilissa Yegorovna," continued the commandant, noticing that, perhaps for the first time in his life, his words had taken effect, "it is not fit that Masha should remain here. Let us send her to Orenburg to her godmother; enough guns and troops there, besides its stone walls. And I would advise thee also to go with her; although thou art an old woman, thou knowest not what may befall thee if the fortress should be carried by assault."
"Well," said the commandant's wife, "be it so. We shall send Masha. As to myself, do not think of asking me any more, for I shall not go. Why should I leave thee in my old age, and seek a lonely grave in a distant soil. We have lived together, we must die together."
"There is some sense in that," said the commandant. "But let us not delay. Go and prepare Masha for the journey. She shall leave at daylight to-morrow, and we shall even give her an escort, though in truth we can ill afford to spare our men. But where is Masha?"
"With Akoulina Pamphylovna," answered his wife; "she fainted when she heard that Nijneōzero had been captured. I fear that she may get ill. Good God! that we should have come to this pass!"
Vassilissa Yegorovna went to prepare her daughter for her departure. The conference at the commandant's continued, but I no longer took a part in it, nor did I pay any further attention to it. Maria Ivanovna came to supper, looking pale, her face bearing traces of tears. We supped in silence, and rose from table earlier than usual; having bid each other good-night, we separated.
