The
dusk of evening had already closed over the city when de Casimir and
Charles at length came downstairs. No one had troubled to open the
shutters of such rooms as were not required; and these were many.
For Moscow was even at that day a great city, though less spacious
and more fantastic than it is to-day. There was plenty of room for
the whole army in the houses left empty by their owners, so that
many lodged as they had never lodged before and would never lodge
again.
The stairs were almost dark when Charles and his companion descended
them. The rusted musket poised against the doorpost still indicated
the supposed presence of a sentry.
"Listen," said Charles, "I found him burrowing like a rat at a
cellar-door in the courtyard. Perhaps he has got in."
They listened, but could hear nothing. Charles led the way towards
the courtyard. A glimmer of light guided him to the door he sought.
It stood open. Barlasch had succeeded in effecting an entry to the
cellar, where his experience taught him to seek the best that an
abandoned house contains.
Charles and de Casimir peered down the narrow stairs. By the light
of a candle Barlasch was working vigorously amid a confused pile of
cases, and furniture, and roughly tied bundles of clothing. He had
laid aside nothing, and his movements were attended by the usual
rattle of hollow-ware. They could see the perspiration gleaming on
his face. Even in this cellar there lingered the faint smell of
sour smoke that filled the air of Moscow.
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