McKay was halted at the door or aperture, across which hung a common yellow rug.  The officers passed in, and their voices, with others, were heard in animated discussion, which lasted some minutes; then the one called Stoschberg came out and fetched McKay.

He found himself in an underground apartment plainly but comfortably furnished.  In the centre, under a hanging lamp, was a large table covered with maps and plans, and at the table sat a tall, handsome man, still in the prime of life.  He was dressed in the usual long plain great-coat of coarse drab cloth, but he had shoulder-straps of broad gold lace, and his flat muffin cap lying in front of him was similarly ornamented.  This personage, an officer of rank evidently, looked up sharply, and addressed McKay in French.

“What is the meaning of this movement in the Tchernaya?” he asked.  “You understand French of course?  People of your trade speak all tongues.”

“I speak French,” replied McKay, “but English is my native tongue.  I am a British officer—­”

“I have told you of his pretensions, Excellency,” interposed the Cossack officer.

“Yes, yes! this is mere waste of time.  What is the meaning of this movement in the Tchernaya, I repeat?  Tell me, and I may save your life.”

“You have no right to ask me that question, and I decline to answer it, whatever the risk.”

“An obstinate fellow, truly!” said the general, half to himself.  “What do you call yourself?”

Then followed a conversation very similar to that which had taken place at Tchorgoun.

“I, too, knew your father,” said the general, shaking his head.  “It is a bad case; I fear you must expect the worst.”

“I shall meet it as a soldier should,” replied McKay, stoutly.  “But I shall always protest, even with my dying breath, that I have been foully and shamefully used.  I appeal to you, a Russian officer of high rank, of whose name I am ignorant—­”

“My name is Todleben, of the Imperial Engineers.”

McKay started, and, notwithstanding the imminent peril of his position, looked with interest upon the man who was known, even in the British lines, as the heart and soul of the defence.

“I appeal to you, sir,” he pleaded, “as a general officer, a man of high honour and known integrity, to protect me from outrage.”

“I can do nothing,” replied Todleben, gravely, shrugging his shoulders.  “The Prince himself will decide.  Take him away.  I cannot waste time with him if he is not disposed to speak.  Let him be kept a close prisoner until the Prince is ready to see him.”

The general then bent his head over his plans, and took no further notice of McKay.