Gavin then noticed a great, two-handled basket piled with wood such as the huge stoves of the region required. The man went off to get help in lifting it, and an idea jumped into Gavin’s mind. “I’ll get in the house and open the door for St. Arnaud,” thought he; and as soon as the man’s back was turned he went to the basket, softly removed some of the wood, crawled in, and, artistically arranging a few sticks so as to conceal himself, waited some minutes. Then the servant, with another one, approached; a stout pole was run between the two handles, and the basket, with Gavin and the logs, was picked up, carried through the kitchen, then into a long corridor, and finally to the main entrance hall, where there was a vast porcelain stove. At that moment Gavin heard a light step descending the stairs, and an exquisitely sweet voice say:
“How can you let those poor creatures outside suffer in this cold? I order you to open the door immediately.”
“But, madame,” said the maid, who had followed, “we had express orders from the master and mistress to let no one in.”
At this moment the basket was let down, and in another instant Gavin, having disengaged himself with quiet dexterity from the wood, stepped out of the basket, and making his best bow, said in his best German: “Madame, I will obey your orders, if these louts will not,” and running to the door, drew the bolt, and in walked Captain St. Arnaud.
The two men-servants gaped in grotesque horror at the load they had brought in; the maid began to scream violently; only the lady retained her self-possession.
“To whom am I indebted,” she asked of Gavin with perfect composure, “for carrying out my orders with such unexpected promptness?”
“To Sublieutenant Gavin Hamilton, of Dufour’s regiment of dragoons, in the service of His Majesty of France,” replied Gavin with equal coolness, saying to himself meanwhile, “Aha! St. Arnaud will see that I have the composure of a gentleman.” Then he said, “Permit me, madame, to present Captain St. Arnaud of my regiment.”
St. Arnaud bowed with the utmost gravity, although immensely tickled at Gavin, and the three gentlepeople stood entirely at ease, while the three servants were completely disconcerted.
“I am Madame Ziska,” said the lady of the charming voice, speaking in French. “I am running away from the Prussians toward Vienna. This house belongs to acquaintances of mine, who have left it. The servants in charge, knowing me, gave me permission to remain the night here; and although I had no authority to let any one else in, I certainly should have opened the door had not Lieutenant Hamilton done so for me.”
Neither cold nor hunger nor flight had dulled either St. Arnaud’s or Gavin’s appreciation of beauty and charm. There was no great beauty in Madame Ziska, but an exquisite grace of bearing, a face full of expression, and a beautiful figure. She was one of those women whose age it was impossible to tell. She was, in truth, thirty, but she might have been twenty-five or thirty-five. Nor was her nationality apparent either in her appearance or her language, for her French was immaculate; and neither St. Arnaud nor Gavin Hamilton knew enough of the German language to judge of how she spoke it when she addressed the servants. St. Arnaud thought first of the poor beasts outside, and said to the men-servants: “Have our horses attended to at once, and look for either money or kicks, according to how you do it.”