The guard made a sign with his hand. Yakob, behind him, looked dully into the startled faces of the bystanders.
'How frightened he looks…how they have beaten him…how frightened he looks!' they murmured.
He put the muffler round his neck again, for he felt cold.
'That's him, that's him,' growled the crowd outside.
The manor-house was reached. The light from the numerous windows fell upon horses and gun-carriages drawn up in the yard.
'What do you want?' cried the sentry to the crowd, pushing them back.
He nodded towards Yakob. 'Where is he to go?'
'That sort…' murmured the crowd. Yakob's guard delivered his order. They stopped in the porch. The pillars threw long shadows which lost themselves towards the fence and across the waves of the stream beyond, in the darkness of the night.
The heat in the waiting-room was overpowering. This was the room where the bailiff had so often given him his pay. The office no longer existed. Soldiers were lying asleep everywhere.
They passed on into a brilliantly lighted room. The staff was quartered there. The general took a few steps across the room, murmured something and stood still in front of Yakob.