“Here, blacksmith,” said Seppel to Féron, “look after my horse. He has cast a shoe.” “Yes, sergeant,” returned Féron coolly, “if you will find me a hammer and tongs, and a nail or two.” “Is that my business, stupid? Go and look. These fellows have horses, so they must have smith’s tackle somewhere about.” “And they call this conquering a country!” grumbled Féron as he walked away. “Well, it may be glorious, but it is not particularly convenient or amusing.” At that moment there was a joyful shout from some of the party. Very few fires were burning in the village on that warm summer evening, but in one of the two largest cottages the great stove had been lighted, and a capacious caldron of tschi was simmering over it. The French soldiers fully appreciated the national dish of the Russians, and found the prospect of an abundant and savoury supper very agreeable. “Here is one good thing for me,” said Féron, glancing at the fire. “Now for hammer and nails.--Talmont, you lazy fellow, don’t stand there gazing at nothing, but come and help me to find them.” But when they stood outside together, Féron’s tone changed. “M. Henri,” he said in a quick, eager whisper, “show me your musket.” Henri did so with a smile. “Ah!” said Féron, looking relieved, “then after all you _did_ fire. I feared you would not, and I was going to give you a word of advice.” “I _did_ fire,” answered Henri in a low voice,--“in the air. What _else_ could I do, Féron? they were women and children.” “Well, perhaps _I_ did not shoot very straight either; still we are in an enemy’s country. Why did not the Czar do whatever the Emperor wanted him? But take care, M. Henri; that old fox Seppel is no friend of yours.” They entered another cottage in search of what they wanted, and Féron struck his foot against a small bucket full of some liquid. “Ha! what have we here? Vodka, I hope.” He stooped down and tasted it, but got up with an air of disgust. “No such luck. Only frog’s ratefia” (so the French called the kvass of the Russians). “How could any poor wretches be expected to fight with such stuff as that in their insides?” “Let me have a pull at it,” said Henri. “I am thirsty enough not to despise even frog’s ratefia. Do you think Seppel means to stay here all night?” “He ought not; but if he finds vodka I would not answer for the consequences. And certainly it is growing very late.” Féron at last succeeded in finding the tools with which the villagers performed whatever rude blacksmith’s work they needed. Then he rejoined his companions, who were just beginning to help themselves to the supper which had been prepared for very different guests by the priest’s wife. The cottage was that of Pope Nikita, and the day happened to be the name-day of Anna Popovna.