Frank stepped back a pace in astonishment. It was the voice rather than the face that he recognized.
"Julian!" burst from his lips, "my brother, can it be really you?"
Julian held out both his hands, and they stood for a moment in silence, gazing into each other's face. Julian was the first to break the silence.
"Jump in here, Frank," he said, leading the way to the sledge. "They must all think that we have gone mad, and we shall have a crowd round us in a minute."
Still completely bewildered, Frank followed his brother.
"Drive out into the country," Julian said to the coachman as he took his seat. "This is little short of a miracle, old fellow," he said, as they drove off. "I thought you were living quietly at Weymouth; you thought I was rotting in a French prison, and here we run against each other in the heart of Russia."
"I can hardly believe even yet that it is you, Julian, you have altered so tremendously. Thank God, old man, that I have found you."
"Thank God, my dear Frank, that, as I see, that stupid business of mine has not prevented your entering the army, as I was afraid it would do; though how you come to be here is more than I can guess."
"I am General Wilson's aide-de-camp, and have been with him all through the war; and you, Julian, what on earth are you doing here? But first of all, I suppose you have not heard that you have been cleared completely of that charge of murder."
Julian's face paled at the sudden news, and he sat for a minute or two in silence.