"
He went slowly to the window, holding his shaggy head between his
two clenched hands as if to spur his memory to an effort. Then he
turned and pointed to the silent form on the bed.
"That is a noble of France," he said; "one of the greatest. And all
France thinks him dead this twenty years. And I cannot remember his
name--goodness of God--I cannot remember his name!"
CHAPTER XXVIII. VILNA.
It is our trust
That there is yet another world to mend
All error and mischance.
Louis d'Arragon knew the road well enough from Konigsberg to the
Niemen. It runs across a plain, flat as a table, through which many
small streams seek their rivers in winding beds. This country was
not thinly inhabited, though the villages had been stripped, as
foliage is stripped by a cloud of locusts. Each cottage had its
ring of silver birch-trees to protect it from the winds which sweep
from the Baltic and the steppe. These had been torn and broken down
by the retreating army, in a vain hope of making fire with green
wood.
It was quite easy to keep in the steps of the retreating army, for
the road was marked by recumbent forms huddled on either side. Few
vehicles had come so far, for the broken country near to Vilna and
around Kowno had presented slopes up which the starving horses were
unable to drag their load.
D'Arragon reached Kowno without mishap, and there found a Russian
colonel of Cossacks who proved friendly enough, and not only
appreciated the value of his passport and such letters of
recommendation as he had been able to procure at Konigsberg, but
gave him others, and forwarded him on his journey.
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