"What's this?" said a gruff voice at my elbow; and I turned to
face the huge, black-bearded Dragoon who had dragged me from my
saddle. "Look at the Frenchman crying! I thought that the
Corsican was followed by brave men and not by children."
"If you and I were face to face and alone, I should let you see
which is the better man," said I.
For answer the brute struck me across the face with his open
hand. I seized him by the throat, but a dozen of his soldiers
tore me away from him, and he struck me again while they held my
hands.
"You base hound," I cried, "is this the way to treat an officer
and a gentleman?"
"We never asked you to come to Russia," said he. "If you do you
must take such treatment as you can get. I would shoot you
off-hand if I had my way."
"You will answer for this some day," I cried, as I wiped the
blood from my moustache.
"If the Hetman Platoff is of my way of thinking you will not be
alive this time to-morrow," he answered, with a ferocious scowl.
He added some words in Russian to his troops, and instantly they
all sprang to their saddles.
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