Then the General returned to the room he had quitted, spread out the document in front of him, sat down over it, supported his head in his hands, and for a long, long time struggled with oppressive and wearying thoughts.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE POLISH WOMAN.
"Who is at home here?" inquired a strong sonorous voice at the door of the headsman's dwelling, and immediately afterwards a shape huddled up in a grey mantle passed through the kitchen door.
By the hearth were sitting Ivan and the woman of the house, it was a dark tempestuous night outside; it might have been about ten o'clock and every door was closed.
The youth and the woman gazed stupidly at the stranger and said nothing.
"Who is at home here?" repeated he, drawing nearer to the fire, in whose flickering light his smooth handsome young face seemed transparent with its sharply defined eyebrows, soft but masterful lips and courageous eagle eyes which gazed fixedly before them.
The youth and the woman exchanged glances. Instead of answering, Ivan fell to questioning:
"How could anyone possibly enter here?"