“What am I to say to him?” thought Prince Andréy, looking down on the old man’s bald head shining in the sun and seeing by the expression on his face that the old man himself understood how untimely such questions were and only asked them to allay his grief.

“Yes, let them have it,” replied Prince Andréy.

“If you noticed some disorder in the garden,” said Alpátych, “it was impossible to prevent it. Three regiments have been here and spent the night, dragoons mostly. I took down the name and rank of their commanding officer, to hand in a complaint about it.”

“Well, and what are you going to do? Will you stay here if the enemy occupies the place?” asked Prince Andréy.

Alpátych turned his face to Prince Andréy, looked at him, and suddenly with a solemn gesture raised his arm.

“He is my refuge! His will be done!” he exclaimed.

A group of bareheaded peasants was approaching across the meadow toward the prince.