“I will go,” sullenly answered Vasilovich, through his clenched teeth.
“Good!” remarked von Schalckenberg, cheerfully. “Proceed, Captain Popovski, if you please.”
The Russian officer, who had been watching this little scene with a kindling eye and swiftly changing emotions, waved his hand to his men, who at once stolidly proceeded to remove the fetters from the limbs of Sziszkinski, and place them upon those of the savagely scowling count.
“You shall pay dearly for this outrage, Captain Popovski,” hissed Vasilovich, as he felt the cold iron being clamped round his wrists. “Only wait until his Majesty—”
“Silence!” exclaimed Popovski, angrily. “Remember that you are my prisoner, and learn to treat me with proper respect. If you give me the least trouble I will have you flogged. I have broken many a prouder spirit than yours, my man, and doubt not that I can break yours also, should it be necessary. Now, march!” And he waved his hand imperiously toward the gangway, through which Count Vasilovich and the two soldiers who had him in custody promptly disappeared.
“I trust, Captain, that your new prisoner is not going to give you trouble,” remarked the professor, blandly.
“I trust not—for his own sake,” grimly replied Popovski. “If he does, I shall know how to deal with him.”
He lingered for a moment, to afford the strangers an opportunity to invite him below; then, perceiving that no such invitation was to be forthcoming, he resumed—
“Well, monsieur, I presume that the exchange which you have forced upon me is now completed, and I may go?”
“Undoubtedly,” answered von Schalckenberg, with much suavity of manner. “And take with you, Captain, the expression of our profound appreciation of the extreme courtesy wherewith you have acceded to our request. Believe me, monsieur, we shall never forget it, but shall consider ourselves as for ever indebted to you. I very deeply regret that the exigencies of the situation render it impossible for me to invite you below, but if you will allow me to summon a steward—”