The morning light was shining in his window. Gleb went to stretch and then groaned as the movement hurt him, snapping him wide awake and causing the memory of last night to come flooding back.
From what he remembered of the doctor's verdict, two of three of the bones in his ankle had been badly broken. In addition, the ankle itself had also been dislocated. This complication, when added to the severity of the injury and the resulting trauma to the ligaments and tendons, meant that he would be unable to use his right foot for several months. In spite of the pain, panic had filled him, making it even less easy to bear. He needed to get out of France. If he couldn't walk then he couldn't go anywhere.
Even worse, with his foot he couldn't even get to the post office with his letter for Gorlinsky. There wasn't the slightest chance that he would entrust such a letter to just anybody. There was Elena of course, but could he depend on her that much? As it was, she already knew his real name. He had been entirely too trusting with her already, he thought sourly.
Seemingly in response to his thought, Elena poked her head in the door. Seeing that he was awake, she pushed it open. In her hands she carried a loaded tray which she set down on the table beside Gleb's bed. She walked to the window, tied back the curtains, and unlocked it, opening the panes. The soft, fresh-smelling morning breeze blew in. It was cool but not unpleasantly so.
The delicious blend of smells wafting up from the tray made Gleb realize just how hungry he was. Carefully, he dragged himself into a sitting position, propped up by his pillows and the wall behind the bedhead. He began inspecting his breakfast. There were two small flaky pastries, a bowl of fresh berries, and some hot scrambled eggs.
"I didn't know whether you would want coffee or tea with your breakfast so I decided to wait until I could ask you. Which do you prefer, monsieur?"
Gleb looked up quickly.
"Black coffee, please," he said eagerly. Elena smiled.
"Black coffee it is. I'll be back in a few minutes."
She turned and left the room, shutting to door behind the time she returned with the coffee, Gleb was cheerfully attacking his breakfast or at least what was left of it. Elena set down the coffee tray and laughed.
"I'm glad to see you liked your breakfast," she said. "I made the coffee Russian style. The French stuff is different from what you are probably used to and I want you to feel at home."
Gleb fought to keep his smile. Nowhere was his home now. The word seemed to drive the thorn of sorrow, fear, and longing deeper into his heart. Still, he thought, she was only trying to be kind. He thanked her and switched his attention to the coffee. It was exceptionally brewed and he savored it appreciatively.
"Excellent," he said. "It's not every day that you can have your coffee made by an expert."
She blushed at his praise.
"Mother taught me how to make it the Russian way. She says that she can't abide French coffee. Too sweet. I make it for her nearly every morning so I have plenty of practice," she said.
"Didn't I say that your mother was a wise woman?" Gleb grinned and Elena laughed.
"I'll have to tell her you like it," she said. "I have to go back down to help with the morning serving, but I'll come back as soon as I can. Do you have any books you like? The library is actually quite good and there is nothing like a book to help pass the time."
"I do like reading, but I don't think many of the books I know would be in a library in France," Gleb said.
His voice was a little more abrupt than he had meant it to be. Elena hesitated a moment and then spoke.
"I have a few Russian books myself," she said self-consciously, "but I don't know if they would interest you. They are mostly fairy books and fantasies from when I was younger. There are a few practical ones thrown in, but they are mostly on things like cheese-making, gardening, and animal husbandry."
Gleb thought for a moment.
"Do you have Tale of a Mammoth and an Ice-Man?" he asked his voice also self-conscious. His taste in literature was a soft point for him. He had always been ashamed of his love for fiction. Elena's face brightened into a surprised smile.
"Yes, I do," she said happily. "I didn't realize that men liked that type of story. My father only ever reads the newspaper."
Gleb shifted uncomfortably.
"Most don't," he said. "It's an oddity of mine. Do you like those kinds of stories?"
"Oh yes!" she replied, "though everyone in my family thinks I'm crazy so I don't talk about it much. I'm glad to find that I'm not alone. Now I really must go before I get too interested to leave. I'll try to bring that up for you when the morning bustle has died down."
With that, Elena hurried out.
Gleb smiled then frowned. Here he was getting distracted again! Tale of a Mammoth and an Ice-Man? He didn't have time for that kind of thing. He was a man, a soldier, not a little girl-child. And he had just told Elena that he liked fairytales. Gleb dropped his head back against the wall and groaned. What was wrong with him? He needed to get away from women. All they ever seemed to do was cause him was pain and trouble. And here he was, bedridden as an old cripple, seemingly surrounded by nothing but women. Gleb swore aloud. If letting just one woman in his life could cause such havoc, what would be the price of another?