“Well, she doesn’t choose her words,” thought to himself the Commandant Tchernishoff, who, standing outside the door, could easily hear the French abuses and the curses of the prisoner; “better take myself off. If the count knows all this has been heard, his little vanity will be pricked, and it is just possible he may take his revenge.” The commandant walked off. The jailer, standing in the long corridor, with his keys, and also hearing the, to him, quite unintelligible cries, the stamping of feet, and, as it seemed to him, the noise of things being thrown at the visitor, also walked off into a corner, thinking to himself: “Ha, ha, Mamzoulka (Mademoiselle), it seems, is asking for better food; it seems it’s not in the articles. She’s screaming at the general, oho! Of course it’s not for such as she, so thin, to eat _schi_ and _schi_. Yesterday, for the first time, they gave her milk.” The furious screams continued. Then came the sound of broken glass. The door of the dungeon was flung open rapidly, and Orloff, humbly bending under the door, too low for his tall person, came out. His face was purple; he lingered for a moment in the corridor, and stared about him, as if collecting his thoughts. Having felt under his arm for his cocked hat, passed his fingers through his hair, and pulled down his coat, he briskly and smartly drew himself up, and silently walked out in the pouring rain, jumped into the carriage, and shouted to the coachman, “Général Procureur.” As he left the fortress behind him, Orloff began turning over in his mind the details of the last interview. “Well, she _is_ a serpent, a viper!” he whispered to himself, looking out into the streets from the carriage window; “didn’t she sting!” Very reservedly, and with plenty of self-composure, he entered the house of the Prince Alexander Alexéeovitch Viazimski. It was already late. The candles were lighted. Orloff shivered, and rubbed his hands together. “Take a seat,” said the général procureur. “What! cold?” “Yes, prince, a little.” Viazimski ordered a servant to bring in liqueurs. The servant soon came, bringing a lovely decanter, and a silver basket containing ginger biscuits. “Pray help yourself, count.… Well! what about our usurper?” continued the général procureur, putting aside some papers that he had just been looking over. “Impudent beyond all bounds; still persists.…” answered Count Alexis, pouring himself out a wineglassful of the rich liqueur, and raising it first to his nose, and then to his lips. “Well, of course!” said the prince; “she has no wish to part with her so-called titles and rights cheaply.” “Oh! she’ll give plenty of trouble yet; other measures than those are wanted,” said Orloff. “But what others, Batienka? Her last minutes are drawing near.… You would not have her strangled?” “And why not?” whispered Orloff, as if to himself, dipping a biscuit into a fresh glass of liqueur. “Pity for such like!”