"I doubt it. He has much to do."
He turned to his men.
"Children! Hasten. Do you go and fetch the bells."
"What bells?" cried the priest in alarm. But nobody answered. The Cossacks left the yard and trotted towards the chapel. Father Constantine hastened after them, the Countess after him. But as the way was rather long and their feet older than they thought, they arrived before the chapel just in time to see the Cossack's take down the three bells and put them on as many horses. One had been cast four hundred years before by an Italian who did much work in the neighborhood. The other two were modern, but of good workmanship.
"And they've taken the bell that used to hang up in the home farmyard," said the Countess ruefully, as a Cossack they had not noticed before came up with it.
Father Constantine had not recovered from the shock of seeing his beloved bells slung across the Cossack saddles, when she gave another cry of anger. Several more Cossacks had come up. Their horses were laden with the copper pots and pans from the kitchen.
"It's as bad as if the Prussians were here," she exclaimed. "What do they imagine we're to cook with?"
The young officer, who had been to the kitchen, now went up to her. His face was crimson.
"Lady Countess, I regret this as much as you do--" he began.
"I doubt it," she retorted.