The shades of twilight were falling as the trio drew near to "Sobieski's Rest," an inn so called because the greatest of the Polish kings had once passed a night there. It was a spacious and picturesque hostelry, composed of a mixture of stone and timber, and shaded by overhanging birch-trees. Outside the building, and holding two horses by the bridle, stood the trooper Nikita, Zabern's orderly, who had been sent on ahead to await the arrival of the marshal. Bidding him remain at the entrance, Zabern passed within, and led the two Englishmen to a private apartment wainscotted with oak and decorated with elk-antlers. "Poland has never been lacking in female beauty," remarked the marshal to Paul, "and I am about to present you to her fairest daughter after the princess. This inn is kept by a friend of mine,--an old companion-in-arms,--Boris Ludovski by name, once a wealthy noble of Warsaw. His zeal in the cause of Polish liberty has reduced him to the position of inn-keeper. Freedom often treats her children hardly. As this is a frontier-inn, and on the main road to Warsaw, it often happens that suspicious characters call here for a drink, and Boris's pretty daughter, Katina, being a maiden who keeps her eyes open, is sometimes enabled to supply the police of Slavowitz with valuable information. Hence my reason for coming here at this present moment, for it is just possible that she can tell me something of the spy Russakoff who escaped from the Citadel to-day. Ah! here is Katina herself." The person who had entered was a typical Polish belle with fine dark hair and flashing eyes. Trevisa whispered to Paul that she was a descendant of Mazeppa, the famous hetman of the Ukraine; and certainly there was that in her elastic step, her fearless glance, her whole air that marked Katina Ludovska as a true daughter of the steppes, wild and untamable. She was handsomely attired. Over a snow-white chemisette she wore a close-fitting dark red jacket, laced in front from neckband to waist; a polished black leather belt gleaming with silver bosses; and a dark blue skirt, prettily braided with silver,--a skirt which, swelling out below the waist, imparted a charming outline to her figure. A pair of red leather shoes completed her outward costume. The marshal saluted her in Polish fashion by kissing her hand, while she in turn pressed her lips to his forehead. She gave the like greeting to Trevisa, who appeared to be well known to her, and this done she cast a glance of inquiry at the third comer. "Paul?" she said with a pretty pout, after the marshal had introduced him, "why do you bear the same name as a Czar?" "There is little of the Czar in him, however," remarked Zabern. "Why, Katina, Captain Woodville has fought against Russians in Asia." "May he live to fight against them in Europe," said Katina; and Paul could see that she was a maiden quivering with patriotism to her finger-tips.