7. Knich’s House

All these preparations, which promised much to the famished soldier, kept him in continual anticipation. He expected every moment to see some superb dish appear, he smelled the odor in the air, his mouth watered, he had all the interest and anxiety of the glutton. He promised himself such a repast, that he forgot all the world, or rather he saw the world confusedly through the heaps of pies, sausages, cheese, meats and other dainties.

“Listen, then, listen, old man, don’t give yourself trouble. I will be content with little. I mean, I will be satisfied with what I see there. Yes, I will be satisfied.”

“No, no!” answered old Knich. “No! Allow me to give you something suitable! Allow me, sir, may I ask your name?”

“I am called Ivan,” the soldier answered with a sigh, but completely disarmed by the frank hospitality of the old farmer.

“Very well, sir, Mr. Ivan, I must be allowed to present you with the best there is in my poor little house! I must! I must! You do not wish to disappoint an old man, do you? You will taste a little of my sausages, and of my hams also, and then of my cheese, you will

“But we soldiers are not accustomed to these delicacies. If our hunger can be appeased, we are satisfied.”

“Certainly, certainly, sir, Mr. Ivan, certainly! Oh, the soldier’s life is hard! I have heard about it. Very well, all the more reason to feast you a little. Yes, yes, believe me.” Maroussia, seated in a corner, tried to be as he would have been, of whom she was thinking all the time. She appeared calm, but what an ebb and flow of hope and anxiety. It cannot be described. Was her good friend still buried in the hay? Or, on the contrary, had he been able to escape from it? But, if so, could he hide himself in a safe place? And besides, if he had been obliged to leave the house, where would she find him? What risks he must run! What would her father say, if she became separated from him before having led him to his destination?

Little Tarass, after having examined the new-comers, approached the window and counted the shots, which could be heard distinctly, although they were very far away.

At last, the breakfast was ready. Mr. Ivan began to devour it with a sort of rage. He had waited for it too long.

At the first mouthful, he had the stern look of a warrior who did not wish to tickle his palate, but very soon his face began to soften, and gradually it brightened until it shone. After several small glasses of wine, made of raspberries, strawberries and cherries, his eyes had an amiable expression and a happy smile appeared on his lips.

Old Knich did not stop presenting new dishes and new drinks to him. From time to time he gave a little exclamation.

“Ah! what an idea! I remember that I have something in my pantry that will please you. Wait, wait! With your permission, I am going to bring it to you, Mr. Ivan. You will give me your opinion.”