" The light died out in his eyes, and he
collapsed afresh, watching every motion of Dirkovitch with terror. A
flight from Siberia may fix a few elementary facts in the mind, but it
does not lead to continuity of thought. The man could not explain how,
like a homing pigeon, he had found his way to his own old mess again.
Of what he had suffered or seen he knew nothing. He cringed before
Dirkovitch as instinctively as he had pressed the spring of the
candlestick, sought the picture of the drum-horse, and answered to the
Queen's toast. The rest was a blank that the dreaded Russian tongue
could only in part remove. His head bowed on his breast, and he
giggled and cowered alternately.
The devil that lived in the brandy prompted Dirkovitch at this
extremely inopportune moment to make a speech. He rose, swaying
slightly, gripped the table edge, while his eyes glowed like opals,
and began:--"Fellow-soldiers glorious--true friends and hospitables.
It was an accident, and deplorable--most deplorable." Here he smiled
sweetly all round the mess. "But you will think of this little, little
thing. So little, is it not? The czar! Posh! I slap my fingers--I snap
my fingers at him. Do I believe in him? No! But the Slav who has done
nothing, _him_ I believe. Seventy--how much?--millions that have done
nothing--not one thing. Napoleon was an episode." He banged a hand on
the table.
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