VERA (_rising and going to the door_). I don't know, Father; it is not like the cattle bells, or I would think Nicholas had come from the fair. Oh! Father! it is soldiers!--coming down the hill--there is one of them on horseback. How pretty they look! But there are some men with them with chains on! They must be robbers. Oh! don't let them in, Father; I couldn't look at them. PETER. Men in chains! Why, we are in luck, my child! I heard this was to be the new road to Siberia, to bring the prisoners to the mines; but I didn't believe it. My fortune is made! Bustle, Vera, bustle! I'll die a rich man after all. There will be no lack of good customers now. An honest man should have the chance of making his living out of rascals now and then. VERA. Are these men rascals, Father? What have they done? PETER. I reckon they're some of those Nihilists the priest warns us against. Don't stand there idle, my girl. VERA. I suppose, then, they are all wicked men. (_Sound of soldiers outside; cry of "Halt!" enter Russian officer with a body of soldiers and eight men in chains, raggedly dressed; one of them on entering hurriedly puts his coat above his ears and hides his face; some soldiers guard the door, others sit down; the prisoners stand._) COLONEL. Innkeeper! PETER. Yes, Colonel. COLONEL (_pointing to Nihilists_). Give these men some bread and water. PETER (_to himself_). I shan't make much out of that order. COLONEL. As for myself, what have you got fit to eat? PETER. Some good dried venison, your Excellency--and some rye whisky. COLONEL. Nothing else? PETER. Why, more whisky, your Excellency. COLONEL. What clods these peasants are! You have a better room than this? PETER. Yes, sir. COLONEL. Bring me there. Sergeant, post your picket outside, and see that these scoundrels do not communicate with any one. No letter writing, you dogs, or you'll be flogged for it. Now for the venison. (_To PETER bowing before him._) Get out of the way, you fool! Who is that girl? (_sees VERA_). PETER. My daughter, your Highness. COLONEL. Can she read and write? PETER. Ay, that she can, sir. COLONEL. Then she is a dangerous woman. No peasant should be allowed to do anything of the kind. Till your fields, store your harvests, pay your taxes, and obey your masters--that is your duty. VERA. Who are our masters? COLONEL. Young woman, these men are going to the mines for life for asking the same foolish question. VERA. Then they have been unjustly condemned. PETER. Vera, keep your tongue quiet. She is a foolish girl, sir, who talks too much. COLONEL. Every woman does talk too much. Come, where is this venison? Count, I am waiting for you. How can you see anything in a girl with coarse hands? (_He passes with PETER and his aide-de-camp into an inner room._) VERA (_to one of the Nihilists_). Won't you sit down? you must be tired. SERGEANT. Come now, young woman, no talking to my prisoners. VERA. I shall speak to them. How much do you want?