“A pity he doesn’t will a spell of warm weather, then,” growled Wilfrid, as he set his half-frozen feet upon the hard ground.
As was the village, so was the inn, still and silent as the tomb. Wilfrid’s summons, however, soon brought to the door the landlord, a somewhat melancholy-looking man. He was accompanied by a tall and pretty girl of about eighteen, sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter.
Though wrapped in sheepskins they shivered as the keen, icy air from without, chilling the warmer air within, produced an instant fall of sleet, a phenomenon which, familiar enough to the four, was witnessed without surprise.
Now as the girl caught sight of Wilfrid there came into her eyes a sudden light. It was not the light of recognition, for she could never previously have seen Wilfrid, but it was a look that seemed to say she had been expecting him, and was glad he had come. Such at least was the impression that Wilfrid derived from her odd manner.
Turning from her to the landlord Wilfrid requested accommodation for the night, but at this the landlord put on a lugubrious look of refusal, explaining that it was neither for lack of room nor of victuals that he was compelled to turn the little father away, but the fact was the whole inn had been hired for the night by a small party, now fast asleep, whose grandeur was such that they had insisted that no other traveller should be received, lest the noise, however light, which must necessarily accompany his presence, should disturb their slumbers.
“Did they look under their pillow for a rose-leaf?” asked Wilfrid.
But this classical allusion was lost upon the landlord. It grieved him, he continued, to refuse a traveller at so late an hour of the night, but what could he do? He had given his word. There was another inn some twenty versts farther on; would not his Excellency——?
No, his Excellency wouldn’t, especially when he noticed on the face of the pretty girl a look of disappointment, evidently occasioned by her father’s words.
“Your name?” asked Wilfrid, addressing the landlord.
“Boris, son of Peter.”