Paul spoke very faintly; his words came slowly and more slowly.
"Was it a kiss, or did I dream?" he murmured. "Mademoiselle, I—I did my best to protect Maximof as he lay here—it was for your sake—will you reward me with a kiss? I shall not live to tell of you."
Vera bent and put her lips to his forehead. Paul smiled.
"It is paradise," he murmured. "I die content."
They were his last words. Vera waited a moment or two, then she knelt and prayed, made over the dead man the sign of the cross and departed.
In the village she found a peasant awaiting her. "This is the way, lady," he said, in the obsequious manner of the moujik who expects largess. "It was I that found and brought in the gentleman. Lord, he is handsome—and heavy also!"
Vera gave the man money. "Is he alive—is he alive?" she said—"speak quickly!"
"Alive? Lord, yes!" said the moujik, "doing well. We have found a doctor for him and we have not ceased to pray—assuredly he will live, Barishnya!"
The moujik returned to the battlefield, where he spent the night reaping a glorious harvest, with other vultures of his kidney, from the unfortunate dead and dying.
Vera entered the hut.