"This is my friend, Charlie Carstairs," the doctor said.
"This, Carstairs, is Peter Michaeloff, a better doctor than most of those who mangle the czar's soldiers."
"Things will better in time," the other said, "when your pupils begin to take their places in the army."
"I hope so," the doctor said, shrugging his shoulders. "There is one comfort, they can't be much worse."
At this moment a servant entered, bearing a bowl of soup and three basins. They at once seated themselves at the table.
"So you managed to get yourself captured yesterday," Doctor Michaeloff said to Charlie. "I have not had the pleasure of seeing many of you gentlemen here."
"We don't come if we can help it," Charlie laughed. "But the Cossacks were so pressing, that I could not resist. In fact, I did not know anything about it, until I was well on the way."
"I hope they have made you comfortable," the other said, sharply.
"I can't say much for the food," Charlie said, "and still less for the cell, which was bitterly cold. Still, as the doctor gave me two rugs to wrap myself up in, I need not grumble."
"That is not right," the other said angrily. "I hear that the King of Sweden treats our prisoners well.