“A week ago, when I quitted Dantzig on a mission to Kowno,” he said, with a careless air, “one could cross the Vistula anywhere. I have been walking on the bank for half a league looking for a way across. One would think there is a General in Dantzig now.”
“There is Rapp,” replied the Italian, poling his boat through the floating ice.
“He will be glad to see me.”
The Italian turned and looked over his shoulder. Then he gave a curt, derisive laugh.
“Barlasch—of the Old Guard!” explained the new-comer, with a careless air.
“Never heard of him.”
Barlasch pushed up the bandage which he still wore over his left eye, in order to get a better sight of this phenomenal ignoramus, but he made no comment.
On landing he nodded curtly, at which the boatman made a quick gesture and spat.
“You have not the price of a glass in your purse, perhaps,” he suggested.
Barlasch disappeared in the darkness without deigning a reply. Half an hour later he was on the steps of Sebastian's house in the Frauengasse. On his way through the streets a hundred evidences of energy had caught his attention, for many of the houses were barricaded, and palisades were built at the end of the streets running down towards the river. The town was busy, and everywhere soldiers passed to and fro. Like Samuel, Barlasch heard the bleating of sheep and the lowing of oxen in his ears.