Knight Without Armour

The brandy passed round again, and Poushkoff made cigarettes out of the coarse army tobacco, and they puffed away furiously as they chattered. It was brilliant chatter, for the most part; Daly and Poushkoff were perfect foils for each other, and the queerest thing of all was that they talked in an intricate, intimate way that somehow needed neither questioning nor explaining on either side. A.J., not talking quite so much, was nevertheless just as happy—with a keenness, indeed, that was almost an ache of memory, for he felt the had known Poushkoff not only before but many times before. Then Poushkoff interrupted one of his own fantastic speeches to thank them both with instant tragic simplicity. “I suppose,” he said, “we shall not see one another again after we reach Samara. That is a pity. The French say—’Faire ses adieux, c’est mourir un peu’—but in this country it is ‘mourir entičrement.’ We have all of us died a thousand deaths like that during these recent years.” He seized Daly’s hand and pressed it to his lips with a strange blending of gallantry and shyness. “Oh, how cruel the world is, to have taken away my life far more than it can ever take away yours…” Then he suddenly broke down into uncontrollable sobbing. They were astounded and moved beyond speech; Daly put her arm round the boy and drew his head gently against her breast. He went on sobbing, and they could not step him; his whole body shook as if the soul were being wrenched out of it. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was all over, and he was looking up at her, his eyes swimming in tears, and saying: “I humbly beg your pardon. I don’t know what you must think of me—behaving like this It was the brandy—I’m unused to it.”

They both smiled at him, trying to mean all they could without speaking, and he took up his book and pretended to read again. A.J., for something to do, cleared away the remains of the meal and repacked the bundle, while lolly stared out of the window at the dazzling snow. A long time passed, and at length came the same cairn, controlled voice that they had heard first of all in the market-place at Novarodar. “Do you know Samara?” he was asking.

“I’ve been through it, that’s all;” A.J. answered.

Poushkoff continued: “It’s a fairly large town—much larger than Novarodar. As you know, our army has just taken it from the Czechs. Its full of important people—all kinds of people who were all kinds of things before the Revolution. There are bound to be many who knew Countess Adraxine personally.”

Daly said still smiling: “And no Tamirskys, eh?”

“Probably not. The perfect Tamirsky is the rarest of all creatures.”

“I see So you are warning us?”

“Well, Hardly so much as that. But I am rather wondering what is going to happen to you.”

“Ah, we none of us know that, do we?”

“No, but I thought you alight possibly have something in mind.”

She looked at A.J. enquiringly and said: “I’m afraid we just do what we can, as a rule, don’t we?”

“You mean that you just take a chance if it comes along?”

“What else is there we can do?”

“Do you think you will manage it in the end—what you are trying to do?”

“With luck, perhaps.”

“And you have had luck so far?”

She said: “Wonderful luck. And the most wonderful of all was to meet you.”

“Do you think so?”

“I would think so even if to-morrow sees the end of us, as it may do.”

Every word of speech between them seemed to have infinitely deeper and secondary meanings. He said, without emotion: “You are the most astonishing woman I have ever met. I altogether love you, as a matter of fact. I loved you from the minute I saw you last night. Am. I being very foolish or impertinent?”

“No, no, I’m sure you’re not.”

“You mean that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ali, how perfect you are!” He stared at the pages of the book for another short interval. Then he turned to A.J. “I wonder if I might be permitted to have a little more of that excellent cognac? It would be good for me, I think—I feel a trifle faint.”

A.J. unpacked the bottle for him, and Daly said, warningly: “Remember now—you said you were unused to it.”

Poushkoff answered, taking a strong gulp and laughing: “I promise it won’t have the same effect again.” Then he leaned back on the cushions and closed his eyes. The train rattled on more slowly than ever; snow had stopped falling; it was nearly dusk. Neither A.J. nor Daly disturbed the strange silence through which the boy appeared to sleep. Suddenly he opened his eyes, yawned vigorously, and strode over to the window. “I think I can see a church in the distance,” he said, in perfectly normal tones. “That must be Tarzov—we have to change to another train there. Pick up your luggage and come out with me to the refreshment buffet—I may be able to get you some tea.”