The Russian grew pale at my words and the way in which I said them.
"But this is terrible," said he.
"Horrible!" said I. "If we were to go up together at this moment I cannot promise how far I could protect you."
"I am in your hands," he cried. "What would you suggest that we should do? Would it not be best that I should remain here?"
"That worst of all."
"And why?"
"Because our fellows will ransack the house presently, and then you would be cut to pieces. No, no, I must go and break it to them. But even then, when once they see that accursed uniform, I do not know what may happen."
"Should I then take the uniform off?"
"Excellent!" I cried. "Hold, we have it! You will take your uniform off and put on mine. That will make you sacred to every French soldier."
"It is not the French I fear so much as the Poles."
"But my uniform will be a safeguard against either."
"How can I thank you?" he cried. "But you—what are you to wear?"
"I will wear yours."
"And perhaps fall a victim to your generosity?"
