"He has his affair--that parishioner," muttered Barlasch, looking at
him with a smile that twisted his mouth to one side. And, as he
spoke, the man's throat rattled. De Casimir was reloading his
pistol. So persistent was the gaze of the dead man's eyes that de
Casimir turned on his heel to look in the same direction.
"Quick!" he exclaimed, pointing to the doorway, from which a lazy
white smoke emerged in thin puffs. "Quick, he has set fire to the
house!"
"Quick--with what, mon colonel?" asked Barlasch.
"Why, go and fetch some men with a fire-engine."
"There are no fire-engines left in Moscow, mon colonel!"
"Then find buckets, and tell me where the well is."
"There are no buckets left in Moscow, mon colonel. We found that
out last night, when we wanted to water the horses. The citizens
have removed them. And there is not a well of which the rope has
not been cut. They are droll companions, these Russians, I can tell
you."
"Do as I tell you," repeated de Casimir, angrily, "or I shall put
you under arrest. Go and fetch men to help me to extinguish this
fire."
By way of reply, Barlasch held up one finger in a childlike gesture
of attention to some distant sound.
"No, thank you," he said, coolly, "not for me. Discipline, mon
colonel, discipline. Listen, you can hear the 'assembly' as well as
I. It is the Emperor that one obeys. One thinks of one's military
career."
With knotted and shaking fingers he drew back the bolts and opened
the door.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155