"Hostess," he said, addressing the young woman, "will you purchase something of me? I have some old brandy, wooden spoons and plates, pepper-boxes, needle-cases, &c., all made of good hard wood, and very cheap." In an almost supplicating tone he uttered these words very slowly, with downcast eyes. From his pronunciation he appeared to be a Pole. The hostess looked shyly up to him. "You know my brother-in-law has forbidden me to have dealings with you," she said hesitatingly, "on account of your wife; but to-day he is not at home." After a momentary silence, turning towards the driver, she continued, "Reb Ruessan, will you betray me? You come frequently this way." In reply he merely shrugged his shoulders and moved away. Turning again with some impatience to the peasant, she said, "Bring me a dish and two spoons." When he had gone to fetch these articles, the woman once more accosted my coachman. "You must not blame me; they are very poor people!" "Certainly they are very poor"--he replied in a milder tone. "During life, hunger and misery, and after death--hell! and all undeserved!" But the man stood already, at this utterance, with his basket in the room. The bargain was soon concluded, and the few copeks paid. Curiosity prompted me to step forward and examine the merchandise. "I have also cigar-cases," said the peasant, humbly raising his hat. But his face was far more interesting than his wares. You rarely see such features! However great the misery on earth, this pale, pain-stricken countenance was unique in its kind, revealing yet traces of sullen defiance, and the glance of his eyes moved instantly the heart of the beholder--a weary, almost fixed gaze, and yet full of passionate mourning. "You are a Pole!" I observed after a pause. "Yes," he replied. "And do you live in this neighbourhood?" "At the inn eight werst from here. I am the keeper." "And besides wood-carver?" "We must do the best we can," was his reply. "We have but rarely any guests at our house." "Does your hostelry lie outside the main road?" "No, close to the high road, sir. It was at one time the best inn between the Bug and the Dniester. But now carriers do not like to stay at our house." "And why not?" "Because they consider it a sin--especially the Jews." Suddenly, with seeming uneasiness and haste, he asked, "Will you purchase anything? This box, perhaps. Upon the lid is engraved a fine country-house." Attracted by the delicate execution, I inquired, "And is this your own workmanship?" "Yes," was his reply. "You are an artist! And pray where did you learn wood-engraving?" "At Kamieniec-Poddski." "At the fortress?" "Yes, during the insurrection of 1863." "Were you among the insurgents?" "No, but the authorities feared I might join them--hence I and the other forced ones were incarcerated in the fortress when the insurrection broke out, and again set free when it was suppressed." "Without any cause?"