“You will pardon me,” he said, speaking English, although with a noticeable accent, “but it will not be wise for you to continue to walk any further along this road. It is growing late and there are stragglers coming in from several villages where a German raid is feared.”
He had taken off his pointed Cossack cap of lamb’s wool and held it in his hand as though he had been a young American meeting a group of friends upon an ordinary thoroughfare.
Barbara was struck by the incongruity of his appearance and his behavior. He looked like a half-civilized warrior of centuries ago, and yet his manner was the conventional one of today. However, it would not be wise to expect him to remain conventional under unusual conditions. Barbara could see that the young Russian officer was a son of the east, not the west. He had a peculiar Oriental pallor and long, slanting dark eyes, and his small black moustache scarcely concealed the thin red lines of his lips.
Nona was frowning at him in a puzzled fashion.
But the next instant she bowed with an expression of recognition.
“Thank you, we will do as you suggest. It is odd to see you so soon again after our unexpected meeting the other afternoon. Lieutenant Orlaff, this is my friend, Miss Meade.”
Barbara inclined her head, too surprised to do more. But as the Russian officer continued to walk beside them with his horse following, she soon understood where he and Nona had met each other.
“Yes, she is an old friend, Sonya Valesky. I knew her years ago and then she went away into other countries.”
The young Russian hesitated. Barbara and Nona were both watching his face closely, so that they could see the cloud of doubt, even of struggle, that swept over it.
“You are strangers in my country, but you have come here to help us in our need,” he protested, almost as if he were thinking aloud.