Even while Ivan Yourivitch was conferring with his startled mistress,
I saw a tall figure in Russian uniform--the eternal long gray
greatcoat--appear at the room door, and I was instinctively glancing
round for some weapon wherewith to defend me, when to my astonishment
Volhonski entered, somewhat splashed with mud, certainly, and powdered
with snow, but whole and well, without a wound, and with a cry of joy
Valerie threw herself into his arms. Wholly occupied by his beautiful
sister, to whom he was tenderly attached, fully a minute elapsed
before he turned to address Madame Tolstoff and then me. Was it
selfishness, was it humanity, was it friendship, or what was the
sentiment that inspired me, and caused so much of genuine joy to see
Volhonski appear safe and untouched?--I, who from the trenches had
been daily wont to watch with grim satisfaction the murderous
"potting" of the Ruskies from the rifle-pits, and literal showers of
legs, arms, and other fragments of poor humanity, by their appearance
in the air, respond to the explosion of a well-directed shell! He now
turned to me with astonishment on recognising my face in that place,
and with the uniform of the Rifle Militia.
"By what strange caprice or whirligig of fortune do I find you here?"
he exclaimed, as he took my hand, but certainly with a somewhat
dubious expression of eye; "you have not come over to us, I hope, as
some of our Poles have lately gone to you?"
"No," I replied, almost laughing at the idea. "Don't mistake me; I
came here as a fugitive, glad to escape you and your confounded
Cossacks; but I thank God, Volhonski, that you eluded my pistol on the
cliffs yonder."
"Then it was _you_, Captain Hardinge, whom I followed so fast and so
far from that khan on the Kokoz road? By St. George, my friend, but
you were well mounted! In our skirmish one of your balls cut my left
shoulder-strap, as you may see; the other shred away my horse's ear on
the off side, making him swerve round so madly that he threw me--that
was all. You, however, fell into the sea--"
"And was soaked to the skin; the reason why, 'only for this night
positively,' as the play-bills have it, I appear in the uniform of the
Imperial Rifle Militia, after finding my way here by the happiest
chance in the world," I added, with a glance at his smiling sister.
"Marshal Canrobert--"
"Has fallen back with his slender force from Kokoz. You had a despatch
for him, I presume, by what fell from you at the Tartar caravanserai?"
"Precisely."
"Ah, I thought as much."
"I should not have been touring so far from our own lines else. It
concerned, I believe--if I may speak of it--an _émeute_ among the
Poles in Sebastopol."
"A false rumour spread by some deserters; there was no such thing; and
be assured that our good father, the Emperor, is too much beloved,
even in Poland, to be troubled by disaffection again."
Volhonski now threw off his great coat, and appeared in the handsome
full uniform of the Vladimir Infantry, on a lapel of which he wore,
among other orders, the military star of St. George the Victorious,
which is only bestowed by the Czar, for acts of personal bravery, like
our Victoria Cross.
"How came you to know of me and of my despatch?" I inquired, while
Yourivitch replaced the wine and some other refreshments on the table.
"I had Menschikoff's express orders to watch, with a sotnia of
Cossacks, Canrobert's flying column on the Kokoz road; and the Tartars
were prompt enough in telling me of _your_ movements--at least of the
appearance of an officer of the Allies, where, in sooth, he had no
right to be. But, my friend, you look pale and weary."
"He has no less than three lance-wounds!" urged Valerie.
"Three!"
"In the arms and shoulder."
"This is serious; but take some more of the Crimskoi--it is harmless
wine. Excuse me, Captain Hardinge, but of course you are aware how
dangerous it is for you to remain long here?"
"I have no intention of remaining a moment absent from my duty, if I
can help it!" said I, energetically.
"So we must get you smuggled back to your own lines somehow--unless
you consent to become a prisoner of war."
"I have already given my parole of honour."
"Indeed! to whom?"
"To the Hospoza Volhonski," said I, laughing.
"More binding, perhaps, than if given to me; yet as I don't wish to
avail myself of your promises to Valerie, but for the memory of past
times," he added, with a pleasant smile, "to see you safe among your
friends, I must contrive some plan to get you hence without delay."
"Why such inhospitable haste?" asked Valerie.
"Think of the peril to him and to us of being discovered here--and in
that dress, too!"
"I fear I shall not be able to ride for days," said I, despondingly,
as sensations of lassitude stole over me.
"I fear that with Valerie for your nurse, you may never return to
health at all," said Volhonski, laughing, as he knew well the
coquettish proclivities of his sister; "hence, to insure at least
convalescence, I must commit you to the care of old Yourivitch or
Madame Tolstoff."
Joy for her brother's safe return made Valerie radiant and splendidly
brilliant; while some emotion of compunction for her temporary
hostility to me, led her to be somewhat marked in her manner, softly
suave; and this _he_ observed; for, after a little time, he said,
smilingly,
"You and my Valerie seem to have become quite old friends already; but
remember the moth and the candle--_gardez-vous bien, mon camarade
Hardinge!_"
"I don't understand you, Paulovitch," said Valerie, pouting.
"As little do I," said I, colouring, for the Colonel's speech was
pointed and blunt, though his manner was scrupulously polite; but with
all that, foreigners frequently say things that sound abrupt and
strange to English ears.
"This stupid soldier is afraid that, if left in idleness, you will
fall in love with Madame Tolstoff--or me," said Valerie; "he is
thinking of the Spanish proverb, no doubt--_Puerto abierto al santo
tiento_."
"I am thinking of no such thing, and did but jest, Valerie," said her
brother, gravely, while he caressed her splendid hair. "Madame
Tolstoff, our dear friend, is an experienced chaperone; and beside
that, you are safe--set apart from the world--so far as concerns the
admiration of men."
"That I never shall be, I hope!" said she, smiling and pouting again.
By Jove, can it be that she is destined for a nunnery? What the deuce
can he mean by all these strange hints and out-of-place remarks?
thought I, and not without secret irritation. Perhaps the keen
Muscovite read something of this in my face, for he now clinked his
glass against mine, and filled it with beautifully golden-coloured
Château Yquem, bright, cool, and sparkling from its white crystal
flask; and to this champagne soon succeeded; unwisely for me, though
it was champagne in its best condition, that is, after being just six
years in bottle, as Yourivitch assured us; and now our conversation
became more gay and varied, and, as I thought, decidedly more
pleasant. He gave me some recent news from the immediate seat of war,
and from our own lines, that proved of interest to me.
The Retribution man-of-war, with the Duke of Cambridge on board, was
said to have been lost, or nearly so, in the late great storm, which
the Russians naturally hoped would delay the arrival of transports
with reinforcements and supplies for the Allies; and he added that if
the generals of the latter "had but the brains to _cut off all
communication with Simpheropol, Sebastopol would surrender in three
days!_" He mentioned, also, that the Greeks at Constantinople had
taken heavy bets that it would not fall before Christmas, which seemed
likely enough, as Christmas was close at hand now; and that there was
a rumour to the effect that General Buraguay d'Hilliers--one of the
veterans of the retreat from Moscow--had landed at Eupatoria, and
given battle to General Alexander Nicolaevitch von Luders, and
defeated him with the 5th Infantry Corps of the Russian Army; a most
improbable story, as D'Hilliers was at that moment with his army in
the Aland Isles! And now Valerie, wearying of war and politics,
shrugged her pretty shoulders, and gradually led us to talk on other
topics. As she was well read and highly accomplished, there were many
subjects on which we could converse in common, as she was wonderfully
familiar with the best works of the English and French writers of the
day, and knew them quite as well as those of Tourguéneff, Panaeff,
Longenoff, Zernina, and others who were barely known to me by name. I
was afterwards to learn, too, that she was a brilliant musician; and
with all these powers of pleasing, was a Russian convent, with its
oppressive atmosphere of religion and austerity, to be her doom?
When I compared, mentally, the Russian with the English woman of
rank--Valerie with Estelle--I could see that the latter, with less of
a nervous temperament, was more quiet and unimpressionable, and with
all her beauty less attractive; the former was more coquettish and
seductive, more full of minute, delicate, and piquante graces--the
real graces that win and enslave; more mistress of those witching
trifles that at all times can inspire tenderness, provoke gallantry,
and awaken love. The brilliant Valerie would have shone in a crowded
_salon_, while Estelle Cressingham, with all her pale loveliness,
would simply have seemed to be the cold, proud, aristocratic belle of
an English drawing-room.
Valerie was fascinating--she was magnetic--I know not how to phrase
it; and what now to me was Estelle--the Countess of Aberconway--that I
should shrink from drawing invidious comparisons?
When I retired that night to a spacious and magnificent apartment, and
to a luxurious Russian couch, the pillows of which were edged with the
finest lace--ye gods! a laced pillow after mine in the camp, a
tent-peg bag stuffed with dirty straw--I was soon sensible of the
difference of sleeping indoors and within a house, after being under
canvas and accustomed so long to my airy tent. I felt as if stifling;
and to this was added the effect of the wines, of which, incited by
the hospitality of Volhonski, I had partaken too freely. I forgot all
about my promises to be up betimes, even before daybreak, in the
morning, and to ride with him as near to our posts as he dared
venture, to leave me in a place of safety; I forgot that if I remained
in secret at the castle or château of Yalta, the great danger and the
grave suspicion to which I subjected him, his sister, and all there; I
forgot, too, the risk I ran personally of being taken and shot as a
spy, perhaps, after short inquiry, or no inquiry at all. I thought
only of the brilliant creature whose voice seemed hovering in my ear,
and the remembered touch of whose velvet hand seemed still to linger
in mine.
The more I saw of Valerie Volhonski, the more she dazzled, charmed,
and--must I admit it?--consoled me for the loss I had sustained in
England far away. She seemed quite aware of the admiration her beauty
excited--of the love that was inspiring me, and she seemed, I thought,
in my vanity, not unwilling to return it! Why, then, should I not ask
her to love me? What to us were the miserable ambitions of emperors
and sultans; the intrigues and treacheries of statesmen; the wars, the
battles, the difference of religion, race, and clime? And so, as the
sparkling cliquot did its work, I wove the shining web of the future,
and gave full reins to my heated fancy as the hours of the silent
night stole on. But the morning found me ill, feverish, decidedly
delirious; and Volhonski, to his great mortification, had to leave me
and ride off with his Cossacks, and reach Sebastopol by making a long
detour through that part of the country which we so stupidly left
_open_--round by Tepekerman and Bagtchi Serai, and thence by the
Belbeck into the Valley of Inkermann. I must have been in rather a
helpless condition for at least two days--days wherein the short
intervals of ease and sense seemed to me wearisome and perplexing
indeed; while to see Madame Tolstoff and old Ivan Yourivitch gliding
noiselessly about my room in fur slippers, caused me to marvel sorely
whether I was dreaming or awake; whether or not I was myself, or some
one else; for all about me seemed strange, unusual, and unreal.
On the morning of the third day I was greatly better, and on passing a
hand over my head, found that my hair was gone--shorn to a crop of the
true military Russian pattern, doubtless by a doctor's order. Then I
saw Madame Tolstoff and Valerie Volhonski standing near and smiling at
my perplexity.
"You miss your dark brown locks," said the latter, with one of her
most seducing smiles; "forgive me; but I am the Delilah who made a
Samson of you!"