Knowing that Paskewitch had stopped his southward march, we concluded he would try to prevent Görgei crossing the Theiss.
My best course evidently was to ride due south, questioning the country people as I passed.
"We shall learn something at Gyongyos," said Mecsey, "and we ought to reach there by nightfall."
It was a dreary and disheartening journey. Of men we saw hardly a sign; only women and children remained in the little villages, or worked hard in the fields to save the ripening crops from destruction.
These poor people could tell me nothing of the enemy. They only knew that their own men-folk were far away fighting for the land of their birth, or haply already lying at peace beneath the sod.
Evening fell before we reached Gyongyos, but I resolved to push on in the gathering darkness, although Mecsey very much doubted if we could find the way.
At the village of Kis-Palaty we learned that the Russians were in the neighbourhood, but whether they constituted an army or only a scouting party it was hard to tell.
Here, as elsewhere, the population consisted of women and children, and a few old men who shook their heads sadly, and mumbled words that had no meaning.
After a long talk with the most intelligent of the women, I came to the conclusion that the enemy were simply a cavalry detachment out scouting. Then came the question what was best to be done.
It seemed equally dangerous to go or stay, and I was still turning the question over in my mind when a man on a splendid horse galloped up to the inn door.