CHAPTER XII.
THE ORPHAN.
The kibitka drew up in front of the Commandant’s house. The inhabitants had recognized Pougatcheff’s little bell, and came crowding around us. Shvabrin met the impostor at the foot of the steps. He was dressed as a Cossack, and had allowed his beard to grow. The traitor helped Pougatcheff to alight from the kibitka, expressing, in obsequious terms, his joy and zeal. On seeing me, he became confused; but quickly recovering himself, he stretched out his hand to me, saying:
“And are you also one of us? You should have been so long ago!”
I turned away from him and made no reply.
My heart ached when we entered the well-known room, on the wall of which still hung the commission of the late Commandant, as a mournful epitaph of the past. Pougatcheff seated himself upo
