IX
First of all, on the pretext of sending Ludwíka back to her native land, the Migoúrskis bought a tarantass. Then began the construction in the tarantass of a box, in which, without suffocation, a man could lie huddled up, and which he could easily enter and leave. The three of them—Albína, Rosolówski, and Migoúrski himself—planned and arranged this box, Rosolówski’s help being specially valuable, for he was a good carpenter.
The box was arranged to rest upon the poles behind the tarantass, and the side touching the vehicle (from which part of the back had been removed) was made to open, so that a man could lie partly in the box and partly on the bottom of the vehicle. Besides all this, air-holes were drilled in the box (which was to be covered with matting and corded round the top and sides). He could get in and out of the box through the tarantass, which was furnished with a seat hiding the connection.
When the tarantass and the box were ready, before her husband’s disappearance, Albína, to prepare the Authorities, went to the Colonel and announced that her husband was suffering from melancholia, and had attempted to commit suicide, and that she was anxious about him; and begged for leave of absence for him. Her dramatic talent came in useful here. Anxiety and fear for her husband were so naturally expressed that the Colonel was touched, and promised to do what he could. After that Migoúrski composed a letter, which was to be found in the cuff of his overcoat on the bank of the Urál; and on the appointed evening he went down to the river, waited till dark, left some clothing, with his overcoat and a letter, on the bank, and returned home secretly.
In the garret, which was fitted with a lock, a place had been prepared for him. In the night Albína sent Ludwíka to the Colonel to inform him that her husband had been absent from home for twenty hours, and had not yet returned. In the morning her husband’s letter was brought to her; and, her face bathed in tears, and with an appearance of utter despair, she took it to the Colonel.
A week later Albína presented a petition to be allowed to return to her home. The grief shown by Madame Migoúrski affected everyone who saw her. They all pitied the unfortunate, widowed mother. When she had received permission to leave, she presented another petition: to be allowed to disinter the bodies of her children and to take them with her.
The Authorities were surprised at this sentimentality, but gave this permission also.
The evening after she had received this second permission, Rosolówski, Albína, and Ludwíka, taking the box in which the coffins were to be placed, drove off in a hired cart. At the cemetery where the children were buried, Albína, falling on her knees by their grave, prayed awhile, but soon rose, dried her eyes, and saying to Rosolówski, “Do what is necessary … I can’t!” stepped aside.
Rosolówski and Ludwíka moved the gravestone and dug up the top of the grave with spades, so that it looked as if it had been opened. When this was done they called Albína; and returned home with the box full of earth.
The day fixed for their departure arrived. Rosolówski rejoiced at the success of the enterprise now so nearly accomplished. Ludwíka had baked pastry and cakes for the journey, and, repeating her usual asseveration, “By my mother!” declared her heart was bursting with fear and joy. Migoúrski was glad of his deliverance from the garret where he had spent more than a month, but yet gladder at Albína’s animation and joy of life. She seemed to have forgotten all former griefs and all danger, and came running to him in the garret, beaming with rapturous delight as in the days of her girlhood.
At three in the morning came a Cossack escort, and brought a driver with three horses. Albína and Ludwíka, with their little dog, got into the tarantass and sat down on cushions covered with a rug. The Cossack and the driver got on to the box; Migoúrski, dressed as a peasant, lay at the bottom of the vehicle.
They drove out of the town, and the three good horses drew the tarantass along the smooth road, hard as a stone, that ran through an endless uncultivated steppe covered with last year’s dry, silvery feather-grass.