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