THE GERMANS


Boris jumped up.

"That is good!" he said. "I have been hoping he would come."

"You do not know who it is," said the servant. "Boris Petrovitch, do not
see this man. He is a German. He looks to me like one of their spies."

"I will look at him first," said Boris, with a smile. "But, Vladimir, I
think your eyes are getting feeble. It is time you were sent to the
place in the Crimea to rest, like the old horses that can no longer do
their share of the work."

Vladimir bridled indignantly. But then a slow smile came over his face.

"Is it Ivan?" he asked.

"It should be," said Boris. "I shall know as soon as I see him."

The newcomer was waiting in the great hall. Boris, with Fred at his
heels, got a glimpse of him; then without ceremony he ran down the
polished staircase.

"So you have come at last!" he cried.

Ivan was a loutish German in appearance, and only his eyes betrayed the
fact that he was not as stupid as he looked. At the sight of Boris he