The frown on the brows of the man in the Prince Albert relaxed and he seemed to give a gasp of relief as he examined the intruder more calmly.
"The world has gone rabid with the smell of blood. Even here, all about us----" He broke off suddenly, turning to the girl. "You have fed him?"
"Yes, Kirylo. But I doubted----"
"We are not savages, Monsieur," he broke in. "You shall be made comfortable for the night. Come. Tanya, the lantern."
And he led the way across the lawn to the house, while Tanya mounted the daïs for the lantern and followed them. Whatever the doubts of the girl as to the hospitality which might be accorded him, the fugitive now saw no reason to suspect the intentions of the strange gentleman in the Prince Albert coat, for as they reached the building he stood aside, indicating the lighted doorway.
"Enter, mon ami," he said. "It shall not be said that this house refuses charity or alms to any seeker after Liberty, even though he go about his quest in a manner with which we disapprove."
"Thanks, Monsieur," said the soldier gratefully.
The room which they entered was the kitchen, and the two persons who occupied it, an aged woman and a youngish man with a shock of yellow hair, paused in the act of masticating, remaining with their full mouths open and eyes staring until the young soldier had passed through the door into the main building beyond. In the brief moment of passing them, the American experienced the same sense of vague hostility as that which had first greeted him in the man Ivanitch, a querulous attitude of anxious suspicion, which for some unknown reason had now disappeared,--a look of expectancy in their eyes, or was it a veiled fear, as of some danger which might come upon them unawares? Was this the reason for the wall? And if so, why a girl in a monk's cowl for sentry?
He was too weary to analyze the return of his impressions and when the Russian reached the room beyond the kitchen, he motioned the Légionnaire to a chair while he bade the girl Tanya bring forth glasses and a jug.
"Sit a moment, Monsieur the soldier," he said suavely. "It is Chartreuse--the real Chartreuse, made years ago by the monks not many leagues from here--there is little of it left even in Switzerland. It will give you new life."