'Ivanov,' I called to him; 'run, please, over there to them, tell them
to wait a little, say I've gone to petition the general.'
'Yes, sir.'
Ivanov ran off.
We were not admitted to the general's presence. In vain I begged,
persuaded, swore even, at last... in vain, poor Sara tore her hair and
rushed at the sentinels; they would not let us pass.
Sara looked wildly round, clutched her head in both hands, and ran at
breakneck pace towards the open country, to her father. I followed her.
Every one stared at us, wondering.
We ran up to the soldiers. They were standing in a ring, and picture it,
gentlemen! they were laughing, laughing at poor Girshel. I flew into a
rage and shouted at them. The Jew saw us and fell on his daughter's
neck. Sara clung to him passionately.
The poor wretch imagined he was pardoned.... He was just beginning to
thank me... I turned away.
'Your honour,' he shrieked and wrung his hands; 'I'm not pardoned?'