Martin came in. He was shaking with rage and fear.
"That Jewish pig has betrayed us," he cried. "They're in the cellar now."
They looked at each other in consternation. Martin turned to his mistress.
"My Lady Countess, it will be well for you to go upstairs ... they are very coarse."
"Yes, Mother, I insist."
"But perhaps I can do something----"
The question was settled by the subaltern, who stalked into the room, followed by two of his henchmen. He was afraid to go about alone. He had already found some of Ian's wine, his face was flushed, and both troopers smelt of it. He did not even salute the Countess, who glared at him in silent rage.
"Nobody to leave this room!" he bellowed. Then to Ian: "Where are your supplies?"
"It appears you have them," was the cool answer. "I hear you have already emptied my stores."
"But the cellar, dolt!" roared the Prussian. "The Jew says you have bricked up corn and potatoes to feed an army."