It was repeated more arrogantly, and accompanied by a brutal kick.
He rose slowly and reluctantly, and asked in a sullen voice—
"Before his Excellency. Step out, or must we prick you along?"
A march of half-an-hour under a strong escort brought them to a large camp. They passed through many lines of tents, and halted presently before a smart marquee.
The Cossack officer in charge entered it, and presently returned with the order—
"March him in!"
McKay found himself in the presence of a broadly-built, middle-aged man, in the long grey great-coat worn by all ranks of the Russian army, from highest to lowest, and the flat, circular-topped cap carried also by all. There was nothing to indicate the rank of this personage but a small silver ornament on each shoulder-strap, and another in the centre of the cap. At a button-hole on his breast, however, was a small parti-coloured rosette, the simple record of orders and insignia too precious to carry in the field.
There was unbounded arrogance and contempt in his voice and manner as he addressed the prisoner, who might have been the vilest of created things.
"So"—he spoke in French, like most well-educated Russians of that day, to show their aristocratic superiority—"you have dared, wretch, to thrust yourself into the bear's mouth! You shall be hanged in half-an-hour."