3. Little Maroussia

Maroussia went toward the door, but at the moment of opening it, stopped suddenly, listening to a strange noise which was heard from without. It seemed like a troop of horsemen galloping toward the house. Rapidly the noise grew louder, cries and oaths were mingled with the neighing of horses. In an instant there was a tumult like the arrival, at a rapid gait, of a whole detachment; creaking wagons and swearing could be heard.

The door opened and the mistress of the house appeared, as white as a sheet.

“They are soldiers, a squadron, a regiment perhaps. They are there—”

“We must keep cool,” said Danilo.

The Envoy of the Setch had arisen, but without haste the others did the same. Not a word was spoken; each one was thinking.

Maroussia’s mother fastened the door, and, placing her back against it, awaited the orders of her husband. Maroussia stood beside her mother; her lips grew white, but her face was calm.

“Vorochilo, you and Krouk are asleep,” said Danilo. “My wife and daughter are sewing, and I am away from home. I have gone to see a friend. Vorochilo and Krouk have come to buy my oxen; they have been drinking a little and they fall asleep while waiting for me. We must try to gain time.”

Then, speaking to the Envoy of the Setch: “The front of the house alone is guarded, the kitchen window leads into the garden. Follow me.”

Danilo, on going out, exchanged a look with his daughter.

All this was done as quickly as a scene-shifting arranged a long time in advance. The two men lying upon benches were sleeping as quietly as the little boys. The mistress of the house and her daughter were sewing. Danilo and the Envoy had disappeared.

“Get down from your horse and knock at the door!” cried a loud voice.

“Blood and thunder! Break in the door!” exclaimed another voice more peremptorily than the first.

The mistress of the house, with her work in her hand, went to the window.

“Who is there? What do you want?” said she in a tone, not one note of which trembled.

But the only answer was the sound of some panes of glass knocked out of the window. A big face, red with anger, with a bristling mustache, leaned over the broken panes, casting irritated and defiant glances into every corner of the room.