"We have none in the house. In the time of Prince Vassily we had, and afterward when the young princes learned to write from the monk; but that is a long time ago."
Pan Yan clasped his hands. "Haven't you ink and pen?" asked he of Podbipienta.
The Lithuanian opened his hands and raised his eyes to heaven.
"Well, plague take it!" said the lieutenant; "what can I do?"
The Tartar had squatted before the fire. "What is the use of writing?" said he, gathering up the coals. "The young lady has gone to sleep. And what you would write to her now, you can tell her in the morning."
"In that case I need no ink. You are a faithful servant to the young lady, as I see. Here is a third thaler for you. Are you long in her service?"
"It is now fourteen years since Prince Vassily took me captive, and since that time I have served faithfully. The night he went away through losing his name he left his little child to Constantine, and said to me: 'You will not desert the little girl, and you will be as careful of her as the eye in your head."
"Are you doing what he told you?"
"Yes, I am; I will care for her."
"Tell me what you see. How is she living here?"