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"In the evening Grigori Aleksandrovich armed himself and rode out of the fortress. How they settled the business I don't know, but at night they both returned, and the sentry saw that across Azamat's saddle a woman was lying, bound hand and foot and with her head wrapped in a veil." "And the horse?" I asked the staff-captain. "One minute! One minute!
He told me, in husky accents, that drink had brought him down, and that he wanted help. I made a few appropriate remarks, presented him with a small coin, and sent him to the Officers downstairs. A quarter of an hour later the Staff-Captain appeared in his uniform and explained that he and the 'object' were the same person. Again it was the clothes that made the difference.
I always found him kind and considerate. Capt. D. Hill had been Staff-Captain ever since the Brigade came out to France, and what he did not know about the job was not worth knowing. He often astonished me by his knowledge of what could be done, and by his serene confidence when things were looking difficult.
The staff-captain did not understand these subtleties, shook his head, and smiled slyly. "Anyhow, I suppose it was the French who introduced the fashion?" "No, the English." "Aha, there you are!" he answered. "They always have been arrant drunkards, you know!"
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