something new in her eyes. Barlasch, sure of his entree, had already
removed his boots, which he carried in his hand; this added to a certain
surreptitiousness in his attitude. A handkerchief was bound over his
left eye. He wore his shako still, but the rest of his uniform verged
on the fantastic. Under a light-blue Bavarian cavalry cape he wore a
peasant's homespun shirt, and he carried no arms.

He pushed past Desiree rather unceremoniously, glad to get within
doors. He was very lame, and of his blue knitted stockings only the legs
remained; he was barefoot.

He limped towards the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder to make sure
that Desiree shut the door. The chair he had made his own stood just
within the open door of the kitchen. It was nine o'clock in the morning,
and Lisa had gone to market. Barlasch sat down.

"Voila," he said, and that was all. But by a gesture he described the
end of the world. Then he scowled at her with his available eye with
suspicion, and she turned away suddenly, as one may who has not a clear
conscience.

"What is the matter with your eye?" she asked, in order to break the
silence. He laid aside his hat, and his ragged hair, quite white, fell
to his shoulders. By way of answer, he unknotted the bloodstained dusky
handkerchief, and looked up at her. The hidden eye was uninjured and as
bright as the other.

"Nothing," he answered, and he confirmed the statement by a low-born
wink. More than once he glanced, with a glaring light in his eye,
towards the cupboard where Lisa kept the bread, and quite suddenly
Desiree knew that he was starving. She ran to the cupboard, and
hurriedly set down on the table before him what was there. It was not
much--a piece of cold meat and a whole loaf.

He had taken off his haversack, and was fumbling in it with unsteady
hands. At last he found that which he sought. It was wrapped in a silk
scarf that must have come from Cashmere to Moscow, and from Moscow in
his haversack with pieces of horseflesh and muddy roots to Dantzig. With
that awkwardness in giving and taking which belongs to his class,
he held out to Desiree a little square "ikon" no bigger than a
playing-card. It was of gold, set with diamonds, and the faces of the
Virgin and Child were painted with exquisite delicacy.

"It is a thing to say your prayers to," he said gruffly.

By an effort he kept his eyes averted from the food on the table.

"I met a baker on the bridge," he said, "and o