Part 29 (1/2)

”... And church bells,” put in Father Constantine.

”I wanted,” said the youth earnestly, ”G.o.d knows I wanted to leave Ruvno, where we have had so much kindness, as we found it. But the orders are explicit. We are not to leave any metal at all--which may serve the Prussians.”

”It seems to me that between our friends and foes we shall have nothing left but the bare ground,” she said.

But she protested no more. What was the good? She and the Father watched them pack up all the rest of the pots and pans in rueful silence. Before starting the young officer approached her again, his cap in hand, his long, s.h.a.ggy locks all loose and dangling in his eyes.

”My Lady Countess,” he said earnestly, ”won't you please come with us?

I have a spare horse or two and will see you don't put foot to soil till we reach Sohaczer. The Germans will not treat you well. We can pick up your son and the young ladies on our way.”

”It seems to me that you have left nothing for the Germans to take,” she remarked, but not angrily this time. There comes a point where civilians, in the war zone, cease to protest. It is not so much dumb despair, as a knowledge that their words are vain when the ”military”

come along. They are but spectators of their own ruin.

”Russia is wide,” he said simply. ”I am a wealthy Cossack at home. If you will come with us I'll see that you reach my farm in safety. My old mother will look after you, and you'll lack nothing, till the war is over.”

This touched her. She answered warmly:

”Ah--that is good of you--but I cannot leave my land. Thank you all the same.”

He waited a moment after this, saw she meant what she said, and pressed her no more, but wished them both good-bye and good luck, kissing her hand and saluting the priest.

”I am sorry you won't come,” he said, mounting his horse. ”The Germans won't be good to you.”

And he left them reluctantly, followed by his men. The Countess laughed at the odd figures they cut, with her bells and saucepans tied to their saddles; but there were tears in her eyes all the same. When they were out of sight she and the Father returned to their work in the farmyard.

They were still there, two hours later, when Martin came running into the barn.

”My lady,” he panted, more from emotion than fatigue; ”the Prussian brutes are here. One of their officers, who gives his name as Graf von Senborn, wants to speak to my Lord the Count.”

”The Count is in the fields. Tell this officer I will see him. Bring him here,” said the Countess.

She had on a cotton ap.r.o.n and a kerchief such as peasant women wear.

She and the priest looked at one another with uneasiness; they had hoped against hope that the Prussians would keep off till their crops were in a safe place; they had hoped that the invaders would not care to put up at Ruvno, almost denuded of wine and as desolate as could be after nearly a year's war, comforting themselves with the thought that there were places, nearer Warsaw, likely to attract them better. The clank of spurs sounded on the stones; a moment later an officer, whose face was vaguely familiar to the priest, swaggered into the huge barn. Some girls were working at the far end, and stopped to look at him. He saluted and said:

”Where are the Cossacks?”

”They left an hour ago,” said Father Constantine, racking his brains to remember where they had met before.

”Is that so?” he asked the Countess.

”Yes. They took the chapel bells and the copper things out of my kitchen. For the rest, you can search the place.”

He eyed her with a certain interest. I suppose he had never seen a grand lady stacking before, except, perhaps, for the fun of it. And she was not very quick at the work, for even stacking is hard to learn when you are no longer young. He looked lean, hard, well-bred; a very different type from the man who so nearly carried off their stores last winter. He spoke French fluently, though with true German gutturalness.

The others went on with their work.

”That is hard work, _Madame_,” he said after a bit.

”These are hard times, _Monsieur_,” she returned gravely. ”The war has left us little but our health and our determination to make the best of things.”

”I always heard that Polish ladies have high courage,” he went on, with a stiff Teutonic bow. ”And now I see it for myself.”