"The sooner you and your peasants leave this the better," he said gruffly. "We can't hold it any longer. The enemy may be here at any moment."
"The peasants have made up their minds to stay," said Ian.
"And you?"
"I never thought of leaving."
The soldier's narrow eyes hardened. He was of those who thought it every civilian's duty to follow in his retreat. He drew himself up and spoke rather sharply. But he was still civil, knowing well that the master of Ruvno was no squireen, to be treated with contempt. Ian, for his part, was slightly hostile. He knew the man for his anti-Polish feelings, kept in check when things were going well, but ready to leap out into action now that misfortune was upon them all. Besides, Ian had seen those fugitives, and no man could look upon them without thinking that the army, even in retreat, might have done something to alleviate their sufferings, even if it were but to leave them their corn.
"Count, you don't understand. I repeat: the Prussians are coming. Surely you are not going to wait to welcome the Czar's enemies."
"Nobody hates the Prussians more than I," he rejoined. "If I leave Ruvno I shall be a beggar. Besides, it's my home."
"Russia is wide."
"And the road long. No, Colonel. We have lived here, peasant and master, father and son, through many wars, many invasions. For me and my mother there can be no choice, so long as a roof remains for us here. As to my peasants, I left them free to choose, said not a word for or against. But they have seen those crowds--" he pointed towards the road, where the weary stream of homeless humanity struggled on towards the unknown. "The old and sick left to die alone, children hungry, mothers exhausted. They made up their minds that it is better to die here than in ditches between this and Moscow."
"You accuse us of neglecting the refugees," cried the Colonel, red to his hair-roots.