that what you have already told me was not the
end of it."
"Why are you so certain?" answered the
staff-captain, winking and smiling slyly.
"Because things don't happen like that. A
story with such an
unusualbeginning must also
have an
unusual ending."
"You have guessed, of course" . . .
"I am very glad to hear it."
"It is all very well for you to be glad, but,
indeed, it makes me sad when I think of it.
Bela was a splendid girl. In the end I grew
accustomed to her just as if she had been my
own daughter, and she loved me. I must tell
you that I have no family. I have had no news
of my father and mother for twelve years or so,
and, in my earlier days, I never thought of
providing myself with a wife -- and now, you
know, it wouldn't do. So I was glad to have
found someone to spoil. She used to sing to us
or dance the Lezginka.[1] . . And what a dancer
she was! I have seen our own ladies in provincial
society; and on one occasion, sir, about twenty
years ago, I was even in the Nobles' Club at
Moscow -- but was there a woman to be com-
pared with her? Not one! Grigori Aleksandro-
vich dressed her up like a doll, petted and
pampered her, and it was simply
astonishing to
see how pretty she grew while she lived with us.
The sunburn disappeared from her face and
hands, and a rosy colour came into her cheeks. . .
What a merry girl she was! Always making
fun of me, the little rogue! . . . Heaven forgive
her!"
[1] Lezghian dance.
"And when you told her of her father's
death?"
"We kept it a secret from her for a long time,
until she had grown accustomed to her position;
and then, when she was told, she cried for a day
or two and forgot all about it.
"For four months or so everything went on
as well as it possibly could. Grigori Aleksandro-
vich, as I think I have already mentioned, was
passionately fond of
hunting; he was always
craving to be off into the forest after boars or
wild goats -- but now it would be as much as he
would do to go beyond the
fortressrampart.
All at once, however, I saw that he was
beginningagain to have fits of abstraction, walking about
his room with his hands clasped behind his back.
One day after that, without telling anyone, he
set off shooting. During the whole morning he
was not to be seen; then the same thing
happened another time, and so on -- oftener and
oftener. . .
"'This looks bad!' I said to myself. 'Some-
thing must have come between them!'
"One morning I paid them a visit -- I can
see it all in my mind's eye, as if it was happening
now. Bela was sitting on the bed, wearing a
black silk
jacket, and looking rather pale and
so sad that I was alarmed.
"'Where is Pechorin?' I asked.
"'Hunting.'
"'When did he go -- to-day?'
"'She was silent, as if she found a difficulty in
answering.
"'No, he has been gone since yesterday,' she
said at length, with a heavy sigh.
"'Surely nothing has happened to him!'
"'Yesterday I thought and thought the whole
day,' she answered through her tears; 'I
imagined all sorts of misfortunes. At one time
I fancied that he had been wounded by a wild
boar, at another time, that he had been carried
off by a Chechene into the mountains. . . But,
now, I have come to think that he no longer
loves me.'
"'In truth, my dear girl, you could not have
imagined anything worse!'
"She burst out crying; then,
proudly raising
her head, she wiped away the tears and con-
tinued:
"'If he does not love me, then who prevents
him sending me home? I am not putting any
constraint on him. But, if things go on like this,
I will go away myself -- I am not a slave, I am
a prince's daughter!' . . .
"I tried to talk her over.
"'Listen, Bela. You see it is impossible for him
to stop in here with you for ever, as if he was
sewn on to your
petticoat. He is a young man
and fond of
hunting. Off he'll go, but you will
find that he will come back; and, if you are
going to be
unhappy, you will soon make him
tired of you.'
"'True, true!' she said. 'I will be
merry.'
"And with a burst of
laughter, she seized her
tambourine, began to sing, dance, and gambol
around me. But that did not last long either;
she fell upon the bed again and buried her face
in her hands.
"What could I do with her? You know I
have never been accustomed to the society of
women. I thought and thought how to cheer
her up, but couldn't hit on anything. For some
time both of us remained silent. . . A most
unpleasant situation, sir!
"At length I said to her:
"'Would you like us to go and take a walk on
the
rampart? The weather is splendid.'
"This was in September, and indeed it was a
wonderful day, bright and not too hot. The
mountains could be seen as clearly as though
they were but a hand's-breadth away. We went,
and walked in silence to and fro along the
rampart of the
fortress. At length she sat down
on the sward, and I sat beside her. In truth, now,
it is funny to think of it all! I used to run after
her just like a kind of children's nurse!
"Our
fortress was
situated in a lofty position,
and the view from the
rampart was
superb. On
one side, the wide
clearing, seamed by a few
clefts, was bounded by the forest which stretched
out to the very ridge of the mountains. Here
and there, on the
clearing, villages were to be
seen sending forth their smoke, and there were
droves of horses roaming about. On the other
side flowed a tiny
stream, and close to its banks
came the dense undergrowth which covered the
flinty heights joining the
principal chain of the
Caucasus. We sat in a corner of the bastion, so
that we could see everything on both sides.
Suddenly I perceived someone on a grey horse
riding out of the forest; nearer and nearer he
approached until finally he stopped on the far
side of the river, about a hundred fathoms from
us, and began to wheel his horse round and round
like one possessed. 'Strange!' I thought.
"'Look, look, Bela,' I said, 'you've got young
eyes -- what sort of a
horseman is that? Who is
it he has come to amuse?' . . .
"'It is Kazbich!' she exclaimed after a
glance.
"'Ah, the robber! Come to laugh at us,
has he?'
"I looked closely, and sure enough it was
Kazbich, with his
swarthy face, and as ragged
and dirty as ever.
"'It is my father's horse!' said Bela, seizing
my arm.
"She was trembling like a leaf and her eyes
were sparkling.
"'Aha!' I said to myself. 'There is robber's
blood in your veins still, my dear!'
"'Come here,' I said to the
sentry. 'Look to
your gun and unhorse that
gallant for me -- and
you shall have a silver ruble.'
"'Very well, your honour, only he won't keep
still.'
"'Tell him to!' I said, with a laugh.
"'Hey, friend!' cried the
sentry, waving
his hand. 'Wait a bit. What are you spinning
round like a humming-top for?'
"Kazbich halted and gave ear to the
sentry --
probably thinking that we were going to parley
with him. Quite the contrary! . . . My grena-
dier took aim. . . Bang! . . . Missed! . . .
Just as the powder flashed in the pan Kazbich
jogged his horse, which gave a bound to one side.
He stood up in his stirrups, shouted something
in his own language, made a threatening gesture
with his whip -- and was off.
"'Aren't you
ashamed of yourself?' I said
to the
sentry.
"'He has gone away to die, your honour,' he
answered. 'There's no killing a man of that
cursed race at one stroke.'
"A quarter of an hour later Pechorin returned
from
hunting. Bela threw herself on his neck
without a single
complaint, without a single
reproach for his lengthy absence! . . . Even I
was angry with him by this time!
"'Good heavens!' I said; 'why, I tell you,
Kazbich was here on the other side of the river
just a moment ago, and we shot at him. How
easily you might have run up against him, you
know! These mountaineers are a vindictive
race! Do you suppose he does not guess that you
gave Azamat some help? And I wager that he
recognised Bela to-day! I know he was desper-
ately fond of her a year ago -- he told me so
himself -- and, if he had had any hope of getting
together a proper bridegroom's gift, he would
certainly have sought her in marriage.'
"At this Pechorin became thoughtful.
"'Yes,' he answered. 'We must be more
cautious -- Bela, from this day forth you mustn't
walk on the
rampart any more.'