Moscow: A Story of the French Invasion of 1812. Whishaw Frederick

the parents of those young warriors, had taken neither fright nor offence at the action of the Emperor Paul, but like a sensible woman had entered her son's name as a cadet in the newly organised institution for the education of youths desirous of entering the army as bona-fide officers. Sasha had been but six years old at the time of the catastrophe, and had then enjoyed the rank and pay of a captain. He had, of course, resigned his commission, but had rejoined as a cadet of the Imperial Corps upon reaching the age of fourteen. He was now nineteen and one of the seniors of the establishment—a nice-looking youth of medium height and good appearance. If one may use a modern expression to describe Sasha's attitude towards life at this time, he may be said to have "fancied himself" to a very considerable extent; he was, indeed, a fair example of the Russian youth of his day, when over the uncouth and bearlike manners of the old Muscovite type was gradually stealing the veneer of Western civilisation.

      Sasha Maximof was a lady's man; he was generally liked and admired by the women, and knew it. He had already been through several affaires du cœur, and if he ever recollected the fact that he was a betrothed man, it is probable that he thought lightly of the matter, regarding the whole question as one of expediency. The dower to be had with his fiancée was a handsome one, he knew; but there were plenty of good dowers available for a man like himself; he might eventually decide to regard his engagement as binding—it depended upon the girl; mediocrity would not suit him.

      "It will be a wonder, or rather she will have to be one," he remarked one day when his mother, observing his attitude towards some damsel whom he was accustomed to meet in society, casually reminded him of the existing contract to which he was a party. "She will have to be a wonder if that silly betrothal is to come to anything!"

      CHAPTER V

      Little sixteen-year-old Vera Demidof looked very well in her stylish Parisian clothes. She was a pretty girl of true Russian type, and, Russian like, was an adept in the art of keeping up a constant flow of light talk, half in her native language and half in French, a fashion in polite society then as now. Vera was with her mother, and with them stood or moved about among the crowd of visitors at the annual function of the corps of cadets a young cousin, one Constantine Demidof, a youthful member of the corps.

      "Tell me the notables," said Vera, "especially the military ones, but don't expect me to admire any of our poor Russians after the smart-looking French officers! As for your cadets—bah!—you are bigger than the French, perhaps, but clumsier; and your manners compared with theirs—the cadets here, I mean—oh! you are bears, my friend, and they are angels. Imagine, Constantine, mon ami, I have spoken to Ney—the bravest of the brave—only think of it; and one day the Emperor himself, beautiful man, smiled upon me."

      "Oh, come," said Constantine, "if you speak of emperors and beautiful men, your Napoleon is a mere tub-man, and not to be named in comparison with our Emperor. You have not yet seen Alexander? A very different person from his unbeautiful father Paul, wait and see, he will be here in five minutes. Your Sasha Maximof is to receive a prize at his hands, lucky Sasha!"

      "Sasha a prize—oh, I am glad!" exclaimed Vera—"and for what?"

      "For fencing; he is the best fencer of all here; see, he is still busy with that girl, his latest craze; in charity we will hope that he has not yet seen you."

      "If he did, I think he would not recognise me; he does not know I am here and it is five years since we met. Presently you shall go and bring him to me, but not yet. Tell me, Constantine, is Sasha liked here?"

      Constantine glanced at his cousin; he caught her eye and smiled.

      "Some people like him, I suppose," he said.

      "Of whom Constantine Demidof is evidently not one," said Vera, laughing merrily. "Why not, my friend?"

      "How should I? I scarcely know him, he is two years senior to me here, and that means much."

      "I see. I should say, to look at him, that he has a good opinion of himself."

      "Oh, he certainly has that," Constantine laughed. "He is thought good-looking, you know, and the girls flatter him, I suppose."

      "Nevertheless his clothes fit very badly. In Parisian clothes he might look well, yes, he is not bad; you shall bring him to me, presently, but do not say who I am; you shall say that there is a lady who desires to have him presented to her."

      At this moment the Emperor Alexander entered the room, preceded by an aide-de-camp, who first cleared the space about the doorway in order that his Majesty might enter with effect, which he certainly did.

      The Emperor was a splendid-looking man, tall and straight as a pine stem, and handsome withal; there was perhaps but a single man in all Russia who was his superior in manly bearing and in stately presence, and that was his younger brother and successor, Nicholas, who had not his equal in Europe.

      "Oh, he is splendid!" murmured Vera Demidof, gazing in wonder and admiration—"what a man! Oh, the sight of him makes me proud to be Russian after all!"

      "Ha! it is good to hear you praise something which is not French. Your 'little Corporal' would look but a poor creature beside him, come, admit it!"

      "Bah! one thinks of something else than inches when one sees Napoleon; nevertheless in the Tsar Alexander God has made a very fine man; they speak well of him in Paris as a wise ruler."

      The Emperor now made a short speech to the cadets, after which he distributed the prizes, saying a word or two of praise or encouragement to each successful candidate. Sasha Maximof returned to his place, flushed and self-conscious, holding the sword of honour which the Tsar had presented to him with a word of approbation.

      "How proud he looks!" said Vera; "I am glad he has won it and that he has been a success here."

      Afterwards, when the Tsar and his suite had departed, she sent young Constantine to fetch Sasha to her side, in order that she might renew her acquaintance with him.

      "Don't say who it is," she called after him as he moved away, somewhat unwillingly, to obey her behest. Constantine adored his cousin and would far rather have had her to himself.

      "A lady wishes to have me presented?" said Sasha, frowning slightly. "Well, I'll come presently; I am busy entertaining another lady, as you perceive;—stop, which is she?"

      Constantine pointed Vera out.

      "What, that child?" exclaimed Maximof. "Tell her I have no time to talk to children."

      "She isn't a child, and it's not likely I will give such a message," said Constantine angrily. "If you knew–" he paused.

      "Well—what?"

      "If you knew who she is," stammered Constantine, "you'd go to her."

      "Why, is she anybody very particular?" asked the other, devoting a second and more interested glance in Vera's direction.

      "You can only learn all about her by becoming personally acquainted with her," said the younger lad. "She is somebody rather particular."

      "Well, I'll come, if I can, later; there are so many who want to speak to one on an occasion like this."

      Sasha Maximof's companion had listened with amusement to this conversation; she, too, had glanced at Vera and had recognised her instantly, for the circumstances of the betrothal of these two were a matter of common knowledge.

      "I see you are looking at the young lady who desires my acquaintance," said Sasha, when Constantine had departed; "do you happen to know who she is?"

      "Do you seriously mean to say that you do not?" asked the girl, laughing.

      "I'm afraid I cannot recall her name, though I believe I have seen the face somewhere; one does not take special notice of children; I cannot imagine why she should be any one in particular, as that little fool declared. Of course one knows every one who is any body! Well, who is she?"

      "First tell me, do you consider her pretty?"

      "Passable—but of course a mere child; she may improve and may go the other way. She's Russian, of course?"

      "Certainly, but has been absent from Russia for five years. Her clothes are of the last French