“Our master went to J—­” (the government town some fifty miles off), “the day before yesterday.”

“There are only two horses in the stables.  Where are the others?”

“Our master always travels with his own horses” (meaning:  not by post).  “He will be away a week or more.  He was pleased to mention to me that he had to attend to some business in the Civil Court.”

While the servant was speaking the officer looked about the hall.  There was a door facing him, a door to the right and a door to the left.  The officer chose to enter the room on the left and ordered the blinds to be pulled up.  It was Mr. Nicholas B.’s study with a couple of tall bookcases, some pictures on the walls, and so on.  Besides the big centre table, with books and papers, there was a quite small writing-table with several drawers, standing between the door and the window in a good light; and at this table my grand-uncle usually sat either to read or write.

On pulling up the blind the servant was startled by the discovery that the whole male population of the village was massed in front, trampling down the flower-beds.  There were also a few women amongst them.  He was glad to observe the village priest (of the Orthodox Church) coming up the drive.  The good man in his haste had tucked up his cassock as high as the top of his boots.

The officer had been looking at the backs of the books in the bookcases.  Then he perched himself on the edge of the centre-table and remarked easily: 

“Your master did not take you to town with him, then.”

“I am the head servant and he leaves me in charge of the house.  It’s a strong, young chap that travels with our master.  If—­God forbid—­there was some accident on the road he would be of much more use than I.”

Glancing through the window he saw the priest arguing vehemently in the thick of the crowd, which seemed subdued by his interference.  Three or four men, however, were talking with the Cossacks at the door.

“And you don’t think your master has gone to join the rebels maybe—­eh?” asked the officer.

“Our master would be too old for that surely.  He’s well over seventy and he’s getting feeble too.  It’s some years now since he’s been on horseback and he can’t walk much either now.”

The officer sat there swinging his leg, very quiet and indifferent.  By that time the peasants who had been talking with the Cossack troopers at the door had been permitted to get into the hall.  One or two more left the crowd and followed them in.  They were seven in all and amongst them the blacksmith, an ex-soldier.  The servant appealed deferentially to the officer.

“Won’t your honour be pleased to tell the people to go back to their homes?  What do they want to push themselves into the house like this for?  It’s not proper for them to behave like this while our master’s away and I am responsible for everything here.”