"Grand pines!" remarked Paul, admiring the erect and stately columns presented by these trees.
"The haunt of wolves in winter," observed Trevisa. "They sometimes devour the Russian sentinels. Who henceforth shall say that a wolf has not its uses?"
Following the beaten track, they came to an extensive clearing.
"The frontier line runs somewhere through this glade. Yes; there is the boundary mark."
Trevisa directed Paul's attention to an upright rectangular block of stone, the sides of which fronted the four cardinal points. On the northern face, deeply cut, were the letters R-U-S-S-I-A, and on the southern face C-Z-E-R-N-O-V-A.
"We are now breathing the air of despotism," remarked Trevisa, as they left the stone in their rear, "and unless we keep a lookout we may experience the effects of it in a shot fired at us by some hidden sentinel."
"What? Is it the fashion of Russian sentries to take pot-shots at passing strangers?"
"Occasionally; at least, on this frontier. It is purposely done to provoke hostilities from Czernova. Ah! there's a sentry. I thought we shouldn't advance far without meeting one."
There under the shadow of the trees, about a hundred yards distant, sitting on horseback with lance erect, was a wild-looking Cossack, with Hessian boots, red breeches, and a small red turban-shaped cap. He was chanting the Russian anthem, and his voice, mellowed by the distance, had a strange plaintive effect.
The sight of this equestrian was well calculated to stir reflection in Paul's mind.