first place, he knows but little French; and it is useless to tell
him in Russian that I despise him,--he would be none the worse for
it. He is well lodged, well fed, and well clothed; what matters my
scorn to him? And besides, let me tell you for your guidance, that
my groom is not a groom, he is my jailer. I am a prisoner under
constant surveillance; these woods constitute a yard, where I can
walk but twice a week, and this excellent Ivan is my keeper.
Search his pockets and you will find a scourge."

Gilbert turned to examine the groom, who answered his scrutinizing
look by a jovial and intelligent smile. Ivan represented the type
of the Russian serf in all his original beauty. He was small, but
vigorous and robust; he had a fresh complexion, cheeks full and
rosy, hair of a pale yellow, large soft eyes and a long chestnut
beard, in which threads of silver already mingled. It was such a
face as one often sees among the lower classes of Slavonians;
indicating at once energy in action and placidity in repose.

When Gilbert had looked at him well, he said, "My dear sir, I do
not believe in Ivan's scourge."

"Ah! that is like you bookworms," exclaimed Stephane with an angry
gesture. "You receive all the monstrous nonsense which you find in
your old books for Gospel truth, and without any hesitation, while
the ordinary matters of life appear to you prodigious absurdities,
which you refuse to believe."

"Don't be angry. Ivan's scourge is not exactly an article of
faith. One can fail to believe in it without being in danger of
hell-fire. Besides, I am ready to recant my heresy; but I will