the chase. From time to time
shots rang through the air. A horse was led up to the Colonel: and he,
feasting his sight with the boar, which was almost cut in two, patted
Ammalat on the shoulder, crying "A brave blow!"

"In that blow exploded my revenge," answered the Bek; "and the revenge
of an Asiatic is heavy."

"You have seen, you have witnessed," replied the Colonel, "how injury is
avenged by Russians--that is, by Christians; let this be not a reproach,
but--a lesson to you."

And they both galloped off towards the Line.

Ammalat was remarkably absent--sometimes he did not answer at all--at
others, he answered incoherently to the questions of Verkhoffsky, by
whom he rode, gazing abstractedly around him. The Colonel, thinking
that, like an eager hunter, he was engrossed by the sport, left him, and
rode forward. At last, Ammalat perceived him whom he was so impatiently
expecting, his hemdjek, Saphir Ali, flew to meet him, covered with mud,
and mounted on a smoking horse. With cries of "Aleikoum Selam," they
both jumped off their horses, and were immediately locked in each
other's embrace.

"And so you have been there--you have seen her--you have spoken to her?"
cried Ammalat, tearing off his kaftan, and choking with agitation. "I
see by your face that you bring good news; here is my new _tchoukha_[7]
for you for that. Does she live? Is she well? Does she love me as
before?"

[7] The Tartars have an invariable custom, of taking off some
part of their dress and giving it to the bearer of good news.

"Let me recollect myself," answered Saphir Ali. "Let me take breath. You
have put so many questions, and I myself are charged with so many
commissions, that they are crowding together like old women at the door
of the mosque, who have lost their shoes. First, at your desire, I have
been to Khounzakh. I crept along so softly, that I did not scare a
single thrush by the road. Sultan Akhmet Khan is well, and at home. He
asked about you with great anxiety, shook his head, and enquired if you
did not want a spindle to dry the silk of Derbend. The khansha sends you
tchokh selammoum, (many compliments,) and as many sweet cakes. I threw
them away, the confounded things, at the first resting-place.
Sourkhai-Khan, Noutzal-Khan"----

"The devil take them all! What about Seltanetta?"

"Aha! at last I have touched the chilblain of your heart. Seltanetta, my
dear Ammalat, is as beautiful as the starry sky; but in that