put my lips to her face…. It was cold as ice. I could scarcely distinguish her features…. I made her sit down, knelt down before her, took her hands, touched her waist…. She did not speak, did not stir, and suddenly she broke into loud, convulsive sobbing. I tried in vain to soothe her, to persuade her…. She wept in torrents…. I caressed her, wiped her tears; as before, she did not resist, made no answer to my questions and wept—wept, like a waterfall. I felt a pang at my heart; I got up and went out of the tent.

Girshel seemed to pop up out of the earth before me.

‘Girshel,’ I said to him, ‘here’s the money I promised you. Take Sara away.’

The Jew at once rushed up to her. She left off weeping, and clutched hold of him.

‘Good-bye, Sara,’I said to her. ‘God bless you, good-bye. We’ll see each other again some other time.’

Girshel was silent and bowed humbly. Sara bent down, took my hand and pressed it to her lips; I turned away….

For five or six days, my friends, I kept thinking of my Jewess. Girshel did not make his appearance, and no one had seen him in the camp. I slept rather badly at nights; I was continually haunted by wet, black eyes, and long eyelashes; my lips could not forget the touch of her cheek, smooth and fresh as a downy plum. I was sent out with a foraging party to a village some distance away. While my soldiers were ransacking the houses, I remained in the street, and did not dismount from my horse. Suddenly some one caught hold of my foot….

‘Mercy on us, Sara!’

She was pale and excited.

‘Your honour… help us, save us, your soldiers are insulting us…. Your honour….’

She recognised me and flushed red.

‘Why, do you live here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

Sara pointed to a little, old house. I set spurs to my horse and galloped up. In the yard of the little house an ugly and tattered Jewess was trying to tear out of the hands of my long sergeant, Siliavka, three hens and a duck. He was holding his booty above his head, laughing; the hens clucked and the duck quacked…. Two other cuirassiers were loading their horses with hay, straw, and sacks of flour. Inside the house I heard shouts and oaths in Little-Russian…. I called to my men and told them to leave the Jews alone, not to take anything from them. The soldiers obeyed, the sergeant got on his grey mare, Proserpina, or, as he called her, ‘Prozherpila,’ and rode after me into the street.

‘Well,’ I said to Sara, ‘are you pleased with me?’

She looked at me with a smile.

‘What has become of you all this time?’

She dropped her eyes.

‘I will come to you to-morrow.’

‘In the evening?’

‘No, sir, in the morning.’

‘Mind you do, don’t deceive me.’

‘No… no, I won’t.’

I looked greedily at her. By daylight she seemed to me handsomer than ever. I remember I was particularly struck by the even, amber tint of her face and the bluish lights in her black hair…. I bent down from my horse and warmly pressed her little hand.

‘Good-bye, Sara… mind you come.’

‘Yes.’

She went home; I told the sergeant to follow me with the party, and galloped off.

The next day I got up very early, dressed, and went out of the tent. It was a glorious morning; the sun had just risen and every blade of grass was sparkling in the dew and the crimson glow. I clambered on to a high breastwork, and sat down on the edge of an embrasure. Below me a stout, cast-iron cannon stuck out its black muzzle towards the open country. I looked carelessly about me… and all at once caught sight of a bent figure in a grey wrapper, a hundred paces from me. I recognised Girshel. He stood without moving for a long while in one place, then suddenly ran a little on one side, looked hurriedly and furtively round… uttered a cry, squatted down, cautiously craned his neck and began looking round again and listening. I could see all his actions very clearly. He put his hand into his bosom, took out a scrap of paper and a pencil, and began writing or drawing something. Girshel continually stopped, started like a hare, attentively scrutinised everything around him, and seemed to be sketching our camp. More than once he hid his scrap of paper, half closed his eyes, sniffed at the air, and again set to work. At last, the Jew squatted down on the grass, took off his slipper, and stuffed the paper in it; but he had not time to regain his legs, when suddenly, ten steps from him, there appeared from behind the slope of an earthwork the whiskered countenance of the sergeant Siliavka, and gradually the whole of his long clumsy figure rose up from the ground. The Jew stood with his back to him. Siliavka went quickly up to him and laid his heavy paw on his shoulder. Girshel seemed to shrink into himself. He shook like a leaf and uttered a feeble cry, like a hare’s. Siliavka addressed him threateningly, and seized him by the collar. I could not hear their conversation, but from the despairing gestures of the Jew, and his supplicating appearance, I began to guess what it was. The Jew twice flung himself at the sergeant’s feet, put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a torn check handkerchief, untied a knot, and took out gold coins…. Siliavka took his offering with great dignity, but did not leave off dragging the Jew by the collar. Girshel made a sudden bound and rushed away; the sergeant sped after him in pursuit. The Jew ran exceedingly well; his legs, clad in blue stockings, flashed by, really very rapidly; but Siliavka after a short run caught the crouching Jew, made him stand up, and carried him in his arms straight to the camp. I got up and went to meet him.

‘Ah! your honour!’ bawled Siliavka,—’it’s a spy I’m bringing you—a spy!…’ The sturdy Little-Russian was streaming with perspiration. ‘Stop that wriggling, devilish Jew—now then… you wretch! you’d better look out, I’ll throttle you!’

The luckless Girshel was feebly prodding his elbows into Siliavka’s chest, and feebly kicking…. His eyes were rolling convulsively….

‘What’s the matter?’ I questioned Siliavka.

‘If your honour’ll be so good as to take the slipper off his right foot,—I can’t get at it.’ He was still holding the Jew in his arms.

I took off the slipper, took out of it a carefully folded piece of paper, unfolded it, and found an accurate map of our camp. On the margin were a number of notes written in a fine hand in the Jews’ language.

Meanwhile Siliavka had set Girshel on his legs. The Jew opened his eyes, saw me, and flung himself on his knees before me.

Without speaking, I showed him the paper.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s—-nothing, your honour. I was only….’ His voice broke.

‘Are you a spy?’

He did not understand me, muttered disconnected words, pressed my knees in terror….

‘Are you a spy?’

‘I!’ he cried faintly, and shook his head. ‘How could I? I never did; I’m not at all. It’s not possible; utterly impossible. I’m ready—I’ll—this minute—I’ve money to give… I’ll pay for it,’ he whispered, and closed his eyes.

The smoking-cap had slipped back on to his neck; his reddish hair was soaked with cold sweat, and hung in tails; his lips were blue, and working convulsively; his brows were contracted painfully; his face was drawn….

Soldiers came up round us. I had at first meant to give Girshel a good fright, and to tell Siliavka to hold his tongue, but now the affair had become public, and could not escape ‘the cognisance of the authorities.’

‘Take him to the general,’ I said to the sergeant.

‘Your honour, your honour!’ the Jew shrieked in a voice of despair. ‘I am not guilty… not guilty…. Tell him to let me go, tell him…’

‘His Excellency will decide about that,’ said Siliavka. ‘Come along.’

‘Your honour!’ the Jew shrieked after me—’tell him! have mercy!’

His shriek tortured me; I hastened my pace. Our general was a man of German extraction, honest and good-hearted, but strict in his adherence to military discipline. I went into the little house that had been hastily put up for him, and in a few words explained the reason of my visit. I knew the severity of the military regulations, and so I did not even pronounce the word ‘spy,’ but tried to put the whole affair before him as something quite trifling and not worth attention. But, unhappily for Girshel, the general put doing his duty higher than pity.

‘You, young man,’ he said to me in his broken Russian, ‘inexperienced are. You in military matters yet inexperienced are. The matter, of which you to me reported have, is important, very important…. And where is this man who taken was? this Jew? where is he?’

I went out and told them to bring in the Jew. They brought in the Jew. The wretched creature could scarcely stand up.

‘Yes,’ pronounced the general, turning to me; ‘and where’s the plan which on this man found was?’

I handed him the paper. The general opened it, turned away again, screwed up his eyes, frowned….

‘This is most as-ton-ish-ing…’ he said slowly. ‘Who arrested him?’

‘I, your Excellency!’ Siliavka jerked out sharply.

‘Ah! good! good!… Well, my good man, what do you say in your defence?’

‘Your… your… your Excellency,’ stammered Girshel, ‘I… indeed,… your Excellency… I’m not guilty… your Excellency; ask his honour the officer…. I’m an agent, your Excellency, an honest agent.’

‘He ought to be cross-examined,’