“I suppose all good Russians, save those who, like you, have work to do, are leaving the city?”
“Almost all; except the ‘black people,’ who think they have nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain by the confusion. A few others are remaining on various pretexts; for instance, Countess Wertsch, the owner of this house, obstinately insists upon staying, positively refusing to believe that the French will enter the city—a great embarrassment to me, since I cannot burn the house over her head. I must get her away somehow. For this and other matters I need advice from my good old friend Petrovitch, and I mean to go to him at daybreak. You shall come with me; I should like to tell him what you have done, Michael.”
“Anywhere with you. There will be plenty of work for us, and plenty of danger too. All the better for me. But you will be sorry to part with life, Ivan Barrinka.”
For a moment Ivan’s face assumed a grave and thoughtful expression; then it gradually lighted up, until it absolutely glowed with enthusiasm. “If I fall,” he said, “Count Rostopchine has promised to name me to the Czar.”
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FORLORN HOPE.
“Oh, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done
The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun,
For ever and for ever with those just souls and true;
And what is life that we should moan? why make we such ado?”
The two young men wore out the short summer night in earnest talk. Neither thought of sleep; but Ivan was careful to provide a comfortable repast for Michael, and was by no means reluctant to share it. Very early in the morning they set out on foot for the merchants’ quarter. The shades of night had brought no repose to the doomed city; hour after hour the living tide flowed on without pause or respite, and Ivan and Michael found it extremely difficult to thread their way through the dense confused mass of vehicles and foot passengers that crowded every street.