f they take you back. They are poor men,
they have had a great deal to suffer, and have been made very savage; so
it is best for you to speak kindly and softly to them. Now, dear, let us
turn down that collar, so that they can see your face, and take your
things off your head, and then go out and speak to them. They are close
here."

The child did as he told her, and as he opened the door she stepped out.
The peasants, who were only some twenty yards away, stopped in surprise
at the appearance of the strange little figure before them. Her golden
hair fell over her shoulders, and the long loose jacket concealed the
rest of her person. She spoke to them in Russian, in a high, clear
voice:

"I am the Countess Stephanie Woronski. I am glad to see you. I was
travelling to go to my father, when there was an accident, and my nurse
and the coachman were both killed; and I should have died too, but a
good man--an Englishman--took me up, and he has carried me many days,
and has fed me and kept me warm and been my nurse. He must go with me
back to my father; and my father will give you lots of money for taking
us both to him, and you must remember that he is an Englishman and not a
Frenchman, although somehow he has been obliged to go with their army;
and he is very, very good."

All this time Julian was standing behind her, musket in hand, determined
to sell his life dearly. The peasants stood irresolute; they conferred
together; then one of them advanced, and took off his fur cap and bowed
to the child.

"Little mistress," he said, "we are but peasants, and do not know the
name of your honoured father; but assuredly we will take you to our
village, and our priest will find out where he lives, and will take you
home to him; but this man with you is a Frenchman, and an enemy."

The child stamped her foot angrily. "Pig of a man!" she exclaimed
passionately, "Do I, then, lie? I tell you he is English. I have a
French coat on, just as he has. Will you say next that I am a French
girl? I tell you that my friend must come with me, and that when I come
to my father he will give you much money. He is a friend of the Czar,
and if I tell him that you have hurt my friend, he and the Czar will
both be angry."

A murmur broke from the group of peasants. The anger of the Czar was, of
all things, the most terrible. Doubtless this imperious, little countess
was a great lady, and their habitual habit of subservience to the nobles
at once