Heideck was not chained, but the Cossacks who walked beside him had their carbines presented, ready to fire should he attempt to escape.  But how could he escape?  Everywhere round and about, outposts of the Russian cavalry were discernible; behind him a body of Cossack horse escorted a whole troop of Indians.  Probably they were incendiaries and robbers who were, like him, being led out for execution; and it did not improve his frame of mind to find himself on his last road in the company of such a crew.

After a long march they at length reached the encampment which had been occupied by the English, the barracks and tents of which were now filled with Russian troops.  It was only with difficulty that his escort could make their way through the crowd that had assembled; the report that a number of criminals were being brought into camp must have arrived here before them, for soldiers of all arms pressed forward inquisitively from all sides, in order to have a close view of the poor wretches.

Suddenly, Heideck felt the clutch of a small but firm hand upon his arm.

“Oh, master, what is this?  Why are they bringing you here like a prisoner?”

At the first word Heideck recognised the soft voice, that in the excitement had assumed its natural feminine tones.  In the same fantastic page’s livery in which he had last seen him in Chanidigot, the pretended servant of his friend Prince Tchajawadse here stood quite unexpectedly before him, as though he had suddenly sprung from the earth, while the most pained consternation showed itself in his fair, expressive face.

“Is it you, Georgi?” exclaimed Heideck, into whose sadness of heart the sight of the Circassian brought a faint gleam of hope; “and your master—­the Prince?  Is he also close at hand?”

But the Cossacks did not seem inclined to permit their prisoner any further private conversation.

“Be off with you, young fellow!” one of them exclaimed to the supposed page; “this is a spy, who is to be shot on the spot; and no one is allowed to speak to him.”

He made a movement as though with a slight motion of his powerful fist to thrust the slender lithe figure aside, when Georgi fearlessly pushed back his arm and glared at him with flashing eyes.

“Hold your blasphemous tongue, you liar!  You are a thousand times more of a spy than this gentleman.  If you do not leave go of him at once, you will have a knouting that you will not forget until the end of your life!”

The Cossacks looked at him and laughed.  It was only the handsome face and the aristocratic bearing of the bold young fellow that prevented their seizing him.

“Take care, little fellow, that you do not first get the stick,” one of them said good-humouredly; “and be off with you, before we, by accident, crush you between our finger and thumb.”

“Go now, Georgi,” Heideck now said, in his turn, on perceiving that the Circassian was not inclined to obey their orders; “if your master is near by, go and tell him that I am about to be shot against all the rules of international law.  But tell him to make haste, if he wants to see me again alive; for it looks as though his comrades intend to make short work of me.”