It is cold enough outside, and there is no sinse in
putting cold victuals into one in such weather as this."
They were not long in reaching a snugly-furnished room, where a big
fire was burning. Another gentleman was standing, with his back to
it. He was a man of some seven or eight and twenty, with large
features, dark brown hair falling in natural curls over his ears,
and large and powerful in build.
"This is my friend, Charlie Carstairs," the doctor said.
"This, Carstairs, is Peter Michaeloff, a better doctor than most of
those who mangle the czar's soldiers."
"Things will better in time," the other said, "when your pupils
begin to take their places in the army."
"I hope so," the doctor said, shrugging his shoulders. "There is
one comfort, they can't be much worse."
At this moment a servant entered, bearing a bowl of soup and three
basins. They at once seated themselves at the table.
"So you managed to get yourself captured yesterday," Doctor
Michaeloff said to Charlie. "I have not had the pleasure of seeing
many of you gentlemen here."
"We don't come if we can help it," Charlie laughed. "But the
Cossacks were so pressing, that I could not resist. In fact, I did
not know anything about it, until I was well on the way.
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