But he was not a second Roman, had none of his brother's fatalism, devil-may-care philosophy, odd glimpses into the truth of life's foundations. His was more the ingenuity of a big schoolboy, but such a schoolboy as he had never been when in his 'teens. One of his first questions was for Roman. He grew grave when they told him there was no news.
"I counted on your hearing from him. He wouldn't be likely to write to me, because of Vanda. But he must have got over that. It wasn't his first love-affair --nor his second. He can't be a prisoner. He'd never let the Prussians take him. He told me that. Besides, I know it myself." He gave a short laugh. "Crucifixion would be too good for us both if they catch us. And he's not on the list of dead or wounded either, for I got a man at Petersburg--I mean Petrograd--to bring me them."
"Up to date?" asked Ian anxiously.
"Yes. The latest. They came this morning, just before I started. Of course, it's just like Roman never to send a line, and then hell turn up all of a sudden and be surprised that we were anxious."
As he sat and listened to the story of the Carpathian campaign, told with simple directness, with that ignorance of main facts which characterises all such stories, where a man knows only what goes on around him, yet with that charm of the intelligent eye-witness, Ian felt suddenly very middle-aged and out of things. Here he was, doing daily drudgery on a ruined estate, always in the same place, always seeing the same people, in the dull monotony of a long winter, without any shooting, without visits to Warsaw and the opera, whilst this cousin of his, whom he had always despised for a coxcomb and an armchair agriculturist, had been running half over Europe, chasing the Austrians over snow-bound mountains, learning the sensation of fighting hand to hand, of being wounded, of getting a decoration, of thinking himself dead once, of being near death many times; not the death of rats-in-a-hole that Ruvno knew, but death with glory; when he heard tales of these things, told by a now unfamiliar Joseph, and compared his own humdrum life, he reflected bitterly that if Vanda had loved this man before she would worship him now. He opened the demijohn that his mind had reserved for Roman's coming, and they drank the health of everybody they liked who was alive and to the other Skarbek's speedy return. During the evening they discussed business.
"Aunt Natalie," began the bridegroom, "I expect you think I'm mad to get married just now, with nothing to live upon and not even knowing if I'll be alive this time next week."
"Vanda will never want while we are able to give her a crust," she said warmly. This new Joseph pleased her, too; if not for her boy she would have taken him to her heart as she had taken Roman long ago.
"Thank you, Aunt. I used to think, there on the Carpathians, what a selfish beast I was to keep her to our engagement after I'd joined the right side and lost my property. But when I was in Kieff old Uncle Stephen came to see me."
"Old Uncle Stephen," was of the branch of Skarbeks who had estates in Russian territory and were Russian subjects.
"They say he's made a lot of money over the war," remarked Ian.