"It does not matter much," answered the Count, "he is a Jew."
"True, I had forgotten that. It does make a great difference, does it not?" And the impulsive little woman dried her eyes and smilingly forgot her compassion.
"What will you do with him?" she asked, after a pause.
"I don't know. The wisest plan would be to deliver him up to military headquarters. He was taken from home to be a recruit, and having escaped from the Czar's soldiers, I would be derelict in my duty if I did not at once send him back."
At the word "soldiers," Jacob, who had caught but a few stray words of the conversation, began to howl and shriek.
"No, don't send me back to the soldiers," he pleaded. "They will kill me! Please don't send me back!"
"Stop your crying," thundered the Count, stopping his ears with his hands to keep out the disagreeable sounds, "or I will call the soldiers at once."
This terrible threat had the desired effect, and Jacob, gulping down his grief, remained quiet save for an occasional sob that would not be repressed.
"Listen, Dimitri," said the Countess. "I found the boy insensible in the storm. He is sick and weak. Of what service can a child like that be among the soldiers? Under rough treatment he would die in a week. Even though he be a Jew, there is no use in sacrificing his life uselessly."
"But we can't keep him here," urged the Count.