Piers thought himself alone, but a
sound caused him to turn his head; the person whom he had forgotten,
the silent reader, had risen and was moving his way. A tall,
slender, graceful man, well dressed, aged about thirty. He
approached Otway, came in front of him, looked at him with a smile,
and spoke.
"Sir, will you permit me to thank you for what you have said in
defence of Russia--my country?"
The English was excellent; almost without foreign accent. Piers
stood up, and held out his hand, which was cordially grasped. He
looked into a face readily recognizable as that of a Little Russian;
a rather attractive face, with fine, dreamy eyes and a mouth
expressive of quick sensibility; above the good forehead, waving
chestnut hair.
"You have travelled in Russia?" pursued the stranger.
"I lived at Odessa for some years, and I have seen something of
other parts."
"You speak the language?"
Piers offered proof of this attainment, by replying in a few Russian
sentences. His new acquaintance was delighted, again shook hands,
and began to talk in his native tongue. They exchanged personal
information. The Russian said that his name was Korolevitch; that he
had an estate in the Government of Poltava, where he busied himself
with farming, but that for two or three months of each year he
travelled. Last winter he had spent in the United States; he was now
visiting the great English seaports, merely for the interest of the
thing.
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