Part 8 (2/2)
Then the priest remembered the story and recognized him. It was Roman Skarbek himself, the young man who won a fortune at Monte Carlo but could not win Vanda.
”What do you mean, coming here dressed like a savage?” he asked angrily, for it annoyed him that the trick had succeeded, all through his having left his gla.s.ses in the sacristy. ”Don't you know what's due to a Pole and a Christian?”
”Aren't Cossacks Christians?” retorted Roman in that pleasant way which always made the Father forgive his boyish deviltries sooner that he ought. ”Come, Father, be just.”
”Well,” he admitted, ”some of them are. But why be a Cossack when you can help it?”
”Can't help it. Being a volunteer, they made me a Cossack.”
”Before this war I detested the very sight of their tall caps and with good reason,” said the Father. ”But such is the power of Prussian brutality that Poles now fight side by side with wild children of the steppes to drive the soldier of the anti-Christ out of our country.
Where have you been?”
”In Masuria,” and Roman told him some of his experiences, adding that he had come to Ruvno with Rennenkampf, for a few hours.
”Well, I'm glad you've killed a few Germans. But you had better cut off that red beard before you go to the Countess.”
As he got on his feet the priest was glad to see he had finished Vitold's work with the sods. He liked the graves to look neat.
”Aunt won't mind the beard. Let's go to her.”
He whistled to his horse, which was browsing near by, and walked towards the house. He asked about Vanda, whether she was anxious for Joseph, how she looked, what she was doing. The priest answered truthfully, though it made him sorry to see the shadow come into Roman's face when he realized that she thought still of Joseph with great love.
”And yet, she hates the Prussians, and he is fighting with them, I suppose,” he remarked, hotly.
The Father, almost as hotly, explained that, as he knew, several thousands more Poles were with the Prussian armies, through no fault of their own but because they had the bad fortune to be German and Austrian subjects. Roman agreed that many could not cut away from Germany, but Joseph had gone back when ordered.
”Like one of the herd all Germans are,” he added.
As they pa.s.sed the windmill, that stood just before you turn into the high road on the way to Ruvno from the forest, Szmul, a Jewish factor, stopped them. His cunning eyes shone with excitement.
”Oh, have you heard that great things are happening in Ruvno?” he cried, spreading out his hands in the way Jews have and twisting his mouth about.
”What things?” asked the priest. ”Have they driven the Prussians out of Kalisz?”
”No, the Prussians are still at Kalisz. But the great General Rennenkampf has deigned to come to Ruvno.”
”We know that.”
He looked disappointed, because he took pride in carrying gossip from one village to another. And the Jews always knew the latest news and spread it like wildfire.
”Anything more?” asked Roman.
Szmul made him a deep reverence. You would have thought this dirty-looking man in Cossack uniform was the Grand Duke at least; but that was Szmul's way.
”Oh--yes, General,” Szmul knew he was only a lieutenant. ”And I'm sure neither of you know it.” He threw his arms about, so Father Constantine told him they were in a hurry.
”Well, look over there.” He pointed westwards, where the blackened stumps of a forest bordered one of Ian's fish-ponds.
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