"No, no! It is impossible that a woman should betray her own husband, and sacrifice her honor, her means, by so doing! Such a monster the world has never known! Nor have I ever committed such grave sins as to demand such sore punishment at God's hands!" "You have a short memory, Ivan Maximovitch," whispered Galban in his ear. "Remember the night on which you conveyed to Korynthia the news of Sophie Narishkin's death, and with it the news of Bethsaba's flight with Pushkin. Did you not know that Sophie Narishkin was her daughter, and that even then she was awaiting Pushkin and not you?" This disclosure was a heavier blow to Ghedimin than even his disgrace. With rigid, wide-open mouth he gasped for breath; his hands convulsively grasped at some invisible phantom, his heart was nigh to bursting. "But do not disturb yourself with jealousy, either on account of Pushkin or of your wife. Pushkin will have a ball through his head when and wherever he is found. Your wife will receive back her wealth and rank, and husband also, in compensation. You will perform your little walk to the scaffold; but your fine possessions and titles--most probably your wife into the bargain--will be inherited by one who knows better how to value them than you have done--possibly by Chevalier Galban!" At these words Ivan's arms sank helplessly to his side. He saw and heard no further. Chevalier Galban's next duty was to finish the condemned man's "toilet." First he tore the orders from his breast, then the epaulettes from his shoulders; finally cut off every regimental button bearing the imperial arms. The grandmother did not understand the subject of their talk, but when she saw her grandson being stripped of every vestige of his military and civil rank, and of all his orders, she found herself endowed with strength, if not to rush to his assistance, still to rise from her chair, and, supporting herself by the table, to cry to the audacious intruders: "You murderer! Godless man! how dare you assail my grandson? Stop! Insult him no further. Your accusations are lies! I will go myself to the Czar; he will hear me. He has ever been gracious to me. Ihnasko, give me my mantle; I will go myself to the Czar! Leave off your mutilations, you executioner! You shall not put a convict's dress upon my grandson, my Ivan! A convict's dress! Before my very eyes! You varlets! And cut off his hair! Where is the Czar? I will go to the Czar--to Czar Alexander, to implore mercy!" Her strength of will worked miracles. Her infirm, paralyzed body seemed to be galvanized into life like a walking ghost. She succeeded in staggering up to where Galban stood, and seized his hands. "To Czar Alexander," she breathed, "for pardon!" "He has already gone to heaven," said the Chevalier, brutally. "Then I will go after him," sighed the venerable lady, and fell where she stood. She had said truly.