the tarantass, he pretended to be asleep, and distinctly heard a man’s voice coming from the box. Early in the morning he went to the police to let them know that the Polish women entrusted to his care were not travelling honestly, but were carrying, instead of coffins, a live man in their box.
When Albína—in her rapturously happy mood, sure that all was now finished, and that in a few days they would be free—came to the innyard, she was surprised to see an elegant pair of horses and two Cossacks at the gates. A crowd had collected round the gates, and were gazing into the yard.
So full of hope and energy was she, that it did not occur to her that the pair of horses and the crowd of people had any connection with her. She entered the yard, and glancing at once towards the shed where her tarantass stood, she saw that it was just there that the people were crowding, and at the same moment she heard Trezórka barking desperately.
The most terrible thing that could possibly have happened had actually come to pass! In front of the tarantass, in his clean uniform, with buttons, shoulder-straps and patent-leather boots glittering in the sunshine, stood an imposing-looking man, with black whiskers, speaking in a loud, hoarse, commanding voice. In front of him, between two soldiers, dressed as a peasant, and with bits of hay in his tangled hair, stood her Josy, raising and lowering his powerful shoulders as if perplexed by what was going on around him. Trezórka, his hair bristling, quite unconscious that he was the cause of all this misfortune, was barking angrily at the Police Master. When he saw Albína, Migoúrski gave a start and wished to approach her, but the soldiers prevented him.
“Never mind, Albína, never mind!” uttered Migoúrski, with his usual gentle smile.