She guessed that her husband had deceived her and began questioning him. Ivan Kuzmich, however, had been prepared for attack. He was not in the least abashed and boldly answered his inquisitive consort: “Our women, my dear, have taken to heating the stoves with straw, let me tell you; and since this may cause a fire I have given strict orders that in the future they should not use straw but wood.”

“Then why did you lock up Palasha?” the Commandant’s wife asked. “What had the poor girl done to have to sit in the pantry till our return?”

Ivan Kuzmich was not prepared for this question; he was confused and muttered something very incoherent. Vasilisa Yegorovna saw her husband’s perfidy, but knowing that she would not succeed in learning anything from him, ceased her questions, and began talking of pickled cucumbers, which the priest’s wife prepared in some very special way. Vasilisa Yegorovna could not sleep all night, trying to guess what could be in her husband’s mind that she was not supposed to know.

The next day returning from Mass she saw Ivan Ignatyich pulling out of the cannon bits of rag, stones, splinters, knucklebones, and all kinds of rubbish that boys had thrust into it.

“What can these military preparations mean?” the Commandant’s wife wondered. “Are they expecting another Kirghiz raid? But surely Ivan Kuzmich would not conceal such trifles from me!” She hailed Ivan Ignatyich with the firm intention of finding out from him the secret that tormented her feminine curiosity.

Vasilisa Yegorovna made several remarks to him about housekeeping, just as a magistrate who is cross-examining a prisoner begins with irrelevant questions so as to take him off his guard. Then, after a few moments’ silence, she sighed deeply and said, shaking her head: “Oh dear, oh dear! Just think, what news! Whatever will come of it?”

“Don’t you worry, madam,” Ivan Ignatyich answered; “God willing, all will be well. We have soldiers enough, plenty of gunpowder, and I have cleaned the cannon. We may yet keep Pugachov at bay. Whom God helps, nobody can harm.”

“And what sort of man is this Pugachov?” she asked.

Ivan Ignatyich saw that he had made a slip and tried not to answer. But it was too late. Vasilisa Yegorovna forced him to confess everything, promising not to repeat it to anyone.

She kept her promise and did not say a word to anyone except to the priest’s wife, and that was only because her cow was still grazing in the steppe and might be seized by the rebels.

Soon everyone began talking about Pugachov. The rumors differed. The Commandant sent Maximych to find out all he could in the neighboring villages and fortresses. The sergeant returned after two days’ absence and said that in the steppe, some forty miles from the fortress, he had seen a lot of lights and had heard from the Bashkirs that a host of unknown size was approaching. He could not, however, say anything definite, for he had not ventured to go any farther.

The Cossacks in the fortress were obviously in a state of great agitation; in every street they stood about in groups, whispering together, dispersing as soon as they saw a dragoon or a garrison soldier. Spies were sent among them. Yulay, a Kalmuck converted to the Christian faith, brought important information to the Commandant. Yulay said that the sergeant’s report was false; on his return, the sly Cossack told his comrades that he had seen the rebels, presented himself to their leader, who gave him his hand to kiss, and held a long conversation with him. The Commandant immediately arrested Maximych and put Yulay in his place. This step was received with obvious displeasure by the Cossacks. They murmured aloud and Ivan Ignatyich, who had to carry out the Commandant’s order, heard with his own ears how they said: “You will catch it presently, you garrison rat!” The Commandant had intended to question his prisoner the same day, but Maximych had escaped, probably with the help of his comrades.

Another thing helped to increase the Commandant’s anxiety. A Bashkir was caught carrying seditious papers. On this occasion the Commandant thought of calling his officers together once more and again wanted to send Vasilisa Yegorovna away on some pretext. But since Ivan Kuzmich was a most truthful and straightforward man, he could think of no other device than the one he had used before.

“I say, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” he began, clearing his throat, “Father Gerasim, I hear, has received from town …”

“Don’t you tell stories, Ivan Kuzmich,” his wife interrupted him. “I expect you want to call a council to talk about Emelyan Pugachov without me; but you won’t deceive me.”

Ivan Kuzmich stared at her.

“Well, my dear,” he said, “if you know all about it already, you may as well stay; we will talk before you.”

“That’s better, man,” she answered. “You are no hand at deception; send for the officers.”

We assembled again. Ivan Kuzmich read to us, in his wife’s presence, Pugachov’s manifesto written by some half-literate Cossack. The villain declared his intention to march against our fortress at once, invited the Cossacks and the soldiers to join his band, and exhorted the commanders not to resist him, threatening to put them to death if they did.