But at that moment the countess, who had dropped asleep over her missal, awoke, and the conversation changed. Truth to tell, Cecil was beginning to be somewhat scared, rather than flattered, by the brilliant œillades and rash speeches of Margarita. He did not quite understand the romantic impulses that came of her half-wild Servian blood, though partly tamed and tempered by a fashionable European education. She was totally unlike any other woman he had met before, and he could not determine to his own satisfaction whether she had conceived a secret fancy for him, or was only seeking to entangle him in a flirtation, for her own amusement, as she had perhaps entangled Mattei Guebhard and others before him. CHAPTER XVIII. CAPTAIN GUEBHARD. When Cecil thought of the despatches with which he had been entrusted by Royal hands, of the approved plans of the campaign which Tchernaieff anxiously and eagerly awaited; when he reflected, too, how he, a foreigner, a stranger, a humble and nameless volunteer, had been promoted, decorated, and honoured with high trust; and when he thought of the ready suspicion, jealousy, and mistrust of the Russians and half-oriental Servians of whom he was now the comrade, he groaned in agony of spirit over the helplessness which caused his detention at Palenka, and neither the society, the rare beauty, nor the blandishments, for it was fast amounting to blandishment--of the dazzling Margarita could console or wean him from the path of duty, or drown the sense of peril, perhaps, involved. All the young men of Belgrade, and all the 'eligibles' of elsewhere, were with the army of Milano as officers or volunteers, all fighting the infidel Turks 'for freedom and Servia;' consequently, save the old pope, Palenka was without male visitors just now; and in the adjacent village, a place with a name not easily pronounced, it was 'noised abroad' that the strange officer who had so suddenly appeared at Palenka had succeeded in winning the heart of the beautiful Margarita, who had been hitherto deemed so unimpressionable by all, and it was thought not to redound much to the credit of the old countess, or to that of the youth of _La Belle Serbe_, that such a prize should be carried off without a struggle. 'The young Herr Lieutenant is playing with fire here!' said the grey-moustached Theodore to Ottilie, gloomily. 'How so?' responded the girl, gaily; 'is not youth the season for love? and our mistress is beautiful.' 'And manhood is the season for marriage, girl; but he dare not marry her, and she dare not marry him,' he added grimly, twitching his beard; 'and I wish him well away from Palenka!' 'Why?' 'Because he is a fine fellow--every inch a soldier--and I would not see evil come to him.' 'Evil?' 'I said evil, and I know--well, what I know.' The curiosity of Ottilie was piqued, but Theodore was in no mood to gratify it.