There remained one Tartar bek, whom we had not remarked. This was a young man of twenty-five, of unusual beauty, graceful as the Belvidere Apollo. He bowed slightly to the commander-in chief as he approached him, raised his cap, and again resumed his proud indifferent expression; unshaken resignation to his fate was written on his features. The commander-in-chief fixed his stern eye upon his face, but the young man neither changed countenance nor quivered an eyelash. "Ammalát Bek," said Alexéi Petróvitch, after a pause, "do you remember that you are a Russian subject? that the Russian laws are above you?" "It would have been impossible to forget that," replied the Bek: "if I had found in those laws a protection for my rights, I should not now stand before you a prisoner." "Ungrateful boy!" cried the commander-in-chief; "your father--you yourself, have been the enemy of the Russians. Had it been during the Persian domination of your race, not even the ashes would have remained; but our Emperor was generous, and instead of punishing you he gave you lands. And how did you repay his kindness? By secret plot and open revolt! This is not all: you received and sheltered in your house a sworn foe to Russia; you permitted him, before your eyes, traitorously to slaughter a Russian officer. In spite of all this, had you brought me a submissive head, I would have pardoned you, on account of your youth and the customs of your nation. But you fled to the mountains, and with Suleiman Akhmet Khan you committed violence within the Russian bounds; you were beaten, and again you make an incursion with Djemboulát. You cannot but know what fate awaits you." "I do," coldly answered Ammalát Bek: "I shall be shot." "No! a bullet is too honourable a death for a brigand," cried the angry general: "a cart with the shafts turned up--a cord round your neck--that is the fitting reward." "It is all one how a man dies," replied Ammalát, "provided he dies speedily. I ask one favour: do not let me be tormented with a trial: that is thrice death." "Thou deservest a hundred deaths, audacious! but I promise you. Be it so: to-morrow thou shalt die. Assemble a court-martial," continued the commander-in-chief, turning to his staff: "the fact is clear, the proof is before your eyes, and let all be finished at one sitting, before my departure." He waved his hand, and the condemned prisoner was removed.