“Yes, I should like that,” she said. “This country is horrible. You are very kind to me.”
Steinmetz went down stairs and found Paul at the door talking to a young officer, who slowly dismounted and lounged into the hall, conscious of his brilliant uniform—of his own physical capacity to show off any uniform to full advantage.
He was a lieutenant in a Cossack regiment, and as he bowed to Steinmetz, whom Paul introduced, he swung off his high astrakhan cap with a flourish, showing a fair boyish face.
“Yes,” he continued to Paul in English; “the general sent me over with a sotnia of men, and pretty hungry you will find them. We have covered the whole distance since daybreak. A report reached the old gentleman that the whole countryside was about to rise against you.”
“Who spread the report?” asked Steinmetz.
“I believe it originated down at the wharfs. It has been traced to an old man and his daughter,—a sort of pedler, I think, who took a passage down the river,—but where they heard the rumor I don’t know.”
Paul and Steinmetz carefully avoided looking at each other. They knew that Catrina and Stipan Lanovitch had sent back assistance.
“Of course,” said Paul, “I am very glad to see you, but I am equally glad to inform you that you are not wanted. Steinmetz will tell you all about it, and when you are ready for dinner it will be ready for you. I will give instructions that the men be cared for.”
“Thanks. The funny thing is that I am instructed, with your approval, to put the place under martial law and take charge.”
“That will not be necessary, thanks,” answered Paul, going out of the open door to speak to the wild-looking Cossacks sent for his protection.