“And the red one! He squints at you like a beast!”
“Ugh! He must be a hound!”
They had all specially noticed the red one.
Where the wood- felling was going on the soldiers nearest to the road ran out to look.
Their officer shouted to them, but Vorontsov stopped him.
“Let them have a look at their old friend.”
“You know who that is?” he added, turning to the nearest soldier, and speaking the words slowly with his English accent.
“No, your Excellency.”
“Hadji Murad. . . . Heard of him?”
“How could we help it, your Excellency? We’ve beaten him many a time!”
“Yes, and we’ve had it hot from him too.”
“Yes, that’s true, your Excellency,” answered the soldier, pleased to be talking with his chief.
Hadji Murad understood that they were speaking about him, and smiled brightly with his eyes.
Vornotsov returned to the fort in a very cheerful mood.
Chapter VI
Young Vorontsov was much pleased that it was he, and no one else, who had succeeded in winning over and receiving Hadji Murad — next to Shamil Russia’s chief and most active enemy.
There was only one unpleasant thing about it: General Meller- Zakomelsky was in command of the army at Vozdvizhenski, and the whole affair ought to have been carried out through him.
As Vorontsov had done everything himself without reporting it there might be some unpleasantness, and this thought rather interfered with his satisfaction.
On reaching his house he entrusted Hadji Murad’s henchmen to the regimental adjutant and himself showed Hadji Murad into the house.
Princess Marya Vasilevna, elegantly dressed and smiling, and her little son, a handsome curly-headed child of six, met Hadji Murad in the drawing room. The latter placed his hands on his heart, and through the interpreter — who had entered with him — said with solemnity that he regarded himself as the prince’s kunak, since the prince had brought him into his own house; and that a kunak’s whole family was as sacred as the kunak himself.
Hadji Murad’s appearance and manners pleased Marya Vasilevna, and the fact that he flushed when she held out her large white hand to him inclined her still more in his favor.
She invited him to sit down, and having asked him whether he drank coffee, had some served.
He, however, declined it when it came.
He understood a little Russian but could not speak it. When something was said which he could not understand he smiled, and his smile pleased Marya Vasilevna just as it had pleased Poltoratsky.
The curly-haired, keen-eyed little boy (whom his mother called Bulka) standing beside her did not take his eyes off Hadji Murad, whom he had always heard spoken of as a great warrior.
Leaving Hadji Murad with his wife, Vorontsov went to his office to do what was necessary about reporting the fact of Hadji Murad’s having cove over to the Russians.
When he had written a report to the general in command of the left flank — General Kozlovsky — at Grozny, and a letter to his father, Vorontsov hurried home, afraid that his wife might be vexed with him for forcing on her this terrible stranger, who had to be treated in such a way that he should not take offense, and yet not too kindly.
But his fears were needless.
Hadji Murad was sitting in an armchair with little Bulka, Vorontsov’s stepson, on his knee, and with bent head was listening attentively to the interpreter who was translating to him the words of the laughing marya Vasilevna.
Marya Vasilevna was telling him that if every time a kunak admired anything of his he made him a present of it, he would soon have to go about like Adam. . . .
When the prince entered, Hadji Murad rose at once and, surprising and offending Bulka by putting him off his knee, changed the playful expression of his face to a stern and serious one.
He only sat down again when Vorontsov had himself taken a seat.
Continuing the conversation he answered Marya Vasilevna by telling her that it was a law among his people that anything your kunak admired must be presented to him.
“Thy son, kunak?” he said in Russian, patting the curly head of the boy who had again climbed on his knee.
“He is delightful, your brigand!” said Marya Vasilevna to her husband in french.
“Bulka has been admiring his dagger, and he has given it to him.”
Bulka showed the dagger to his father.
“C’est un objet de prix!” added she.
“Il faudra trouver l’occasion de lui faire cadeau,” said Vorontsov.
Hadji Murad, his eyes turned down, sat stroking the boy’s curly hair and saying:
“Dzhigit, dzhigit!”
“A beautiful, beautiful dagger,” said Vorontsov, half drawing out the sharpened blade which had a ridge down the center.
“I thank thee!”
“Ask him what I can do for him,” he said to the interpreter.
The interpreter translated, and Hadji Murad at once replied that he wanted nothing but that he begged to be taken to a place where he could say his prayers.
Vorontsov called his valet and told him to do what Hadji Murad desired.
As soon as Hadji Murad was alone in the room allotted to him his face altered. The pleased expression, now kindly and now stately, vanished, and a look of anxiety showed itself.
Vorontsov had received him far better than Hadji Murad had expected.
But the better the reception the less did Hadji Murad trust Vorontsov and his officers.
He feared everything: that he might be seized, chained, and sent to Siberia, or simply killed; and therefore he was on his guard.