his young master's pale
worn face. Alpatych told how he had been sent there and how difficult it
was to get away.

"Are we really quite lost, your excellency?" he asked again.

Prince Andrew without replying took out a notebook and raising his knee
began writing in pencil on a page he tore out. He wrote to his sister:

"Smolensk is being abandoned. Bald Hills will be occupied by the enemy
within a week. Set off immediately for Moscow. Let me know at once when
you will start. Send by special messenger to Usvyazh."

Having written this and given the paper to Alpatych, he told him how
to arrange for departure of the prince, the princess, his son, and the
boy's tutor, and how and where to let him know immediately. Before
he had had time to finish giving these instructions, a chief of staff
followed by a suite galloped up to him.

"You are a colonel?" shouted the chief of staff with a German accent,
in a voice familiar to Prince Andrew. "Houses are set on fire in your
presence and you stand by! What does this mean? You will answer for
it!" shouted Berg, who was now assistant to the chief of staff of the
commander of the left flank of the infantry of the first army, a place,
as Berg said, "very agreeable and well en evidence."

Prince Andrew looked at him and without replying went on speaking to
Alpatych.

"So tell them that I shall await a reply till the tenth, and if by the
tenth I don't receive news that they have all got away I shall have to
throw up everything and come myself to Bald Hills."

"Prince," said Berg, recognizing Prince Andrew, "I only spoke because
I have to obey orders, because I always do obey exactly.... You must
please excuse me," he went on apologetically.

Something cracked in the flames. The fire died down for a moment and
wreaths of black smoke rolled from under the roof. There was another
terrible crash and something huge collapsed.

"Ou-rou-rou!" yelled the crowd, echoing the crash of the collapsing roof
of the barn, the burning grain in which diffused a cakelike aroma all
around. The flames flared up again, lighting the animated, delighted,
exhausted faces of the spectators.

The man in the frieze coat raised his arms and shouted:

"It's fine, lads! Now it's raging... It's fine!"

"That's the owner himself," cried several voices.

"Well then," continued Prince Andrew to Alpatych, "report to them as I
have told you"; and not replying a word to Berg who was now mute beside
him,