“Count, be so good as to allow me... for God’s sake, to get into some corner of one of your carts! I have nothing here with me.... I shall be all right on a loaded cart....”
Before the officer had finished speaking the orderly made the same request on behalf of his master.
“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” said the count hastily. “I shall be very pleased, very pleased. Vasílich, you’ll see to it. Just unload one or two carts. Well, what of it... do what’s necessary...” said the count, muttering some indefinite order.
But at the same moment an expression of warm gratitude on the officer’s face had already sealed the order. The count looked around him. In the yard, at the gates, at the window of the wings, wounded officers and their orderlies were to be seen. They were all looking at the count and moving toward the porch.
“Please step into the gallery, your excellency,” said the major-domo. “What are your orders about the pictures?”
The count went into the house with him, repeating his order not to refuse the wounded who asked for a lift.
“Well, never mind, some of the things can be unloaded,” he added in a soft, confidential voice, as though afraid of being overheard.
At nine o’clock the countess woke up, and Matrëna Timoféevna, who had been her lady’s maid before her marriage and now performed a sort of chief gendarme’s duty for her, came to say that Madame Schoss was much offended and the young ladies’ summer dresses could not be left behind. On inquiry, the countess learned that Madame Schoss was offended because her trunk had been taken down from its cart, and all the loads were being uncorded and the luggage taken out of the carts to make room for wounded men whom the count in the simplicity of his heart had ordered that they should take with them. The countess sent for her husband.
“What is this, my dear? I hear that the luggage is being unloaded.”
“You know, love, I wanted to tell you... Countess dear... an officer came to me to ask for a few carts for the wounded. After all, ours are things that can be bought but think what being left behind means to them!... Really now, in our own yard—we asked them in ourselves and there are officers among them.... You know, I think, my dear... let them be taken... where’s the hurry?”