“I don’t know,” replied Paul Dmitrich, “but the orders are, to be ready! But really we’d better have a game: I would stake my Kabarda 83 horse.”

“No, today⁠ ⁠…”

“The grey one. Come what may! Or else, if you like, we’ll play for money. Well?”

“Oh, but I⁠—I would readily⁠—you must not think⁠—” began Lieutenant O⁠⸺, answering his own doubts, “but, you know, we may have an attack or a march before us tomorrow, and I want to have a good sleep.”

The Adjutant rose, and putting his hands in his pockets began pacing up and down. His face assumed the usual cold and somewhat proud expression which I liked in him.

“Won’t you have a glass of mulled wine?” I asked.

“I don’t mind if I do,” he said, coming towards me.