The beginning of the war dragged. There was little fighting, for the Russian generals adopted the policy of retiring constantly before the enemy's advance, apparently afraid to stand their ground, but actually luring him intentionally onward, deeper and deeper, into the immense spaces of the interior. By these tactics a constantly diminishing French force opposed a Russian army whose numbers augmented daily in spite of the leakage resulting from illness and small engagements.

In one of the earlier battles young Sasha Maximof received a bullet in the left arm, and being incapacitated for a while from active service was employed by the general to carry to Moscow the latest manifesto of the Tsar, and to superintend the raising of reinforcements demanded in that document by his Majesty.

The manifesto was as follows:—

"To our ancient City and Metropolis of Moscow:

"The Enemy, with unparalleled perfidy and a force equal to his boundless ambition, has entered the frontiers of Russia. His design is the ruin of our country. The Russian armies burn to throw themselves upon his battalions....

"Necessity commands that we should assemble a new force in the interior to support that which is now face to face with the enemy. To collect this new army we now address ourself to the Ancient Capital of our Ancestors: to Moscow, the sovereign city of all the Russians....

"The security of our Holy Church, the safety of the Throne of the Tsars, the independence of the Ancient Muscovite Empire all demand that the object of this appeal be regarded by our subjects as a Sacred Decree....

"The ills which this treacherous invader has prepared for us shall fall upon his own head. Europe, delivered from vassalage, shall celebrate the name of Russia!

"Alexander.

"Given at our Camp at Polotsk,
6, 7, 1812."

The Countess Maximof presently received a letter from a relative in Moscow. "Come quickly," her cousin wrote; "you are the favoured of fortune; Sasha has arrived, slightly wounded—do not be afraid, it is a mere bagatelle, a bullet scratch in the left arm; he is busy recruiting—a very important billet, my dear, and the appointment is the highest compliment to so young a man! Sasha is too busy to write, but he begs me to say that he hopes to see you here, and also—if she is with you—Vera Demidof, who has of course returned from Paris." The Countess went straight to Vera with her letter.

"You will come, chÉrie—do not refuse—give him this pleasure; only think, he is wounded; one of the first to bleed for our dear Russia; he is wounded and will soon go back to the front—you will not refuse his request."

"Oh, I will come," Vera laughed, "if only to prove to you, Madame, that Alexander Petrovitch and myself shall need but one interview to assure ourselves that neither is anxious to be bound by the foolish betrothal of a dozen years ago!"

"Well, we shall see, we shall see; meanwhile you will come, and that is good. We shall travel in my own Dormese; in three days we shall be in Moscow. We shall not journey by night, for I would have you look your sweetest when Sasha sees you; poor lad, he will not be at his best—wounded and perhaps ill with fever; you will remember that when you see him!"

"I will remember that he has already bled for Russia, that will mean more for me than the colour of his cheeks," said Vera.

"That is a wise saying, chÉrie; good, I like it; yes, remember that he is a good Russian."

Vera was not long in Moscow before Sasha Maximof presented himself. He came with his arm in a sling, pale and looking many years older than when Vera last saw him. His face was certainly a handsome one, and much of its present pallor was lost in the blush which spread over his features as he took Vera's hand and bent over it.

"My mother did not exaggerate," he said, gazing at the girl with undisguised admiration. "I thought—three years ago, is it?—that you would grow into a handsome girl, but by the Saints, Vera, I did not anticipate—this!"

"So you have 'eschewed the follies of cadetdom,'" laughed Vera, quoting Sasha's late letter to her in Paris. "What does that mean, pray?"

"You quote imperfectly," Sasha blushed again. "I wrote, 'my heart is disengaged, and I have eschewed the follies of cadetdom'. You must know what I mean by the follies of my cadet-period, for assuredly there could scarcely have existed upon this earth a more objectionable person than I was in those days."

"You had, if I remember rightly," said Vera, "a very fair opinion of yourself; you refused to know me because I was too young."

"I am prepared to make amends," Sasha laughed. "Please do all your fault-finding at once, in order that my repentance may be complete. I know I was a conceited young cub and treated you abominably. What is your next grievance?"

"A very much more serious one. Your memory is so good that you will not have forgotten a certain conversation when we parted three years ago."

"I think I remember every word of it; I have often thought of it."

"Is that so?" asked Vera in surprise. "Why?"

"Honestly, because you looked so pretty that day and showed so much spirit that I was surprised into liking you better than I thought. I realised this afterwards. I suppose I am a person of strong imagination, because from time to time, recalling that interview, I have felt that sense of 'like' almost deepen into 'love'."

"Oh!" Vera laughed; "but that could only have been after your heart became disengaged; do not forget, mon ami, that when we parted your heart was far from being disengaged."

"I thought so; but one makes mistakes about such things. At any rate I got over that—that foolish business. Am I forgiven all these juvenile sins?"

"But there is nothing in the last confession which concerns me. What have I to forgive in the circumstance that you were once in love with some one unknown, and 'got over it'?"

Sasha winced.

"Of course that was nothing to you," he said.

"Absolutely. But with regard to that same conversation, I have a grievance and a serious one, as I hinted before. We came to an agreement, I remember, with regard to a certain foolish contract entered into by our parents on our behalf. You were to destroy it, by mutual consent. You did not do so, as I learned for the first time but a few months ago."

"Honestly, Vera, the notary said it could not be destroyed but in the presence of, and by sworn consent of, both. The priests, too, declare that the sanction of the metropolitan is necessary."

"You should not have asked them. You had undertaken to tear up the foolish thing. That would have sufficed for us. Why did you ask advice?"

"I see that you will have the whole truth. I stupidly thought that by retaining the contract I retained also a kind of hold upon you. Of course, on reconsideration——"

"Yes, of course that is nonsense. I will tell you, my friend, that contract or no contract, I should never dream of marrying any man against my own will and desire. Your action makes no difference, but it was foolish and not quite honest. It is better that we should understand one another from the beginning."

"Yes, that is true. Will you do me a kindness, Vera? You say that it is better that we should understand one another. It might save me much pain if you were to tell me now, before it is quite too late, whether you have left Paris as heart free as you entered it?"

Vera flushed crimson.

"By what right am I thus catechised?" she asked angrily. "Is it by virtue of the contract you so dishonestly retained? or do you consider that I am bound to give you my confidence because you have been so good as to lay bare your heart for my entertainment? Neither is a sufficient reason, sir."

"You are very hard on me, Vera," Maximof sighed. "What you have implied might have been conveyed to me less harshly. Well, thank you for letting me know what I wished to know." He paused. "With regard to our intercourse here in Moscow, I shall be very busy and—well, I may as well speak to you frankly while I am about it, I fancy it would be too dangerous for me to see much of you. Good-bye—oh, as to this thing——"

Sasha produced a pocket-book and took from it an oldish paper. "At any rate you shall be worried no longer by the whim of our parents!" He opened the door of the stove and threw the betrothal contract within; then he lit a match and applied it to an edge of the document which was soon in flames.

"So ends a foolish comedy that might have developed into a pretty romance!" said Maximof, laughing bitterly. "Farewell, Vera Danilovna. I wish to God you had not lived these three years in Paris!" At the door he turned and spoke again.

"Of course I don't blame you, but it's hard on me that you should have grown so—so maddeningly pretty." Maximof repeated his loud laugh and departed.

Vera sighed. "I ought to have known you before, my friend," she thought; "before—before Paul! But after all, the gulf between Paul and me is wide enough!"