Behind her father was Sophie. With horror I saw
her clasp Major Sergine's hand as she congratulated him upon the
victory he had won and the prisoners he had made. The old
priest, her father, looked at me with an insolent face and made
insulting remarks at my expense, pointing at me with his lean and
grimy hand. His fair daughter Sophie looked at me also, but she
said nothing, and I could read her tender pity in her dark eyes.
At last she turned to Major Sergine and said something to him in
Russian, on which he frowned and shook his head impatiently.
She appeared to plead with him, standing there in the flood of
light which shone from the open door of her father's house. My
eyes were fixed upon the two faces, that of the beautiful girl
and of the dark, fierce man, for my instinct told me that it was
my own fate which was under debate. For a long time the soldier
shook his head, and then, at last softening before her pleadings,
he appeared to give way. He turned to where I stood with my
guardian sergeant beside me.
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