“It’s cruel,” she said aloud, suddenly drawing a long breath and clenching her teeth in despair. “To the Tzar is due the dire misfortune that has fallen upon our house. He has taken our money and cast us forth to die like dogs! It is he—the Tzar—the murderer!—who is responsible for my mother’s death. He is a vampire who lives on the blood of such as us.” Raising her white, tear-stained face and looking up to the bright moon, she cried despairingly: “What can I do? My father exiled, my mother dead, Anton on military service, and I am left alone—alone!” she added, in a half-fearful whisper, “to seek revenge!” “Very pretty sentiments indeed,” remarked a gruff, harsh voice. Springing to her feet, she confronted General Martianoff. “You!” she gasped. “Why—why do you come here?” “To see you, my pretty one,” he replied, throwing off his great sable-lined _shuba_. He endeavoured to place his arm around her waist, but she drew back quickly. “And you have followed me here,” she said, in a tone full of reproach and disgust; “here, into the room where my mother lies dead, in order to continue your hateful attentions—to insult me before her corpse!” “Ho! ho!” he exclaimed, annoyed. “Then you have not reconsidered your decision?” “No,” she replied firmly. “Have I not already told you that I prefer death?” He argued with her, flattered her, laughing all the time at her indignation, and treating it with flippancy. Suddenly she turned upon him with angry passion, saying: “I desire none of your detestable caresses. It is such heartless officials as you who curse our country, who carry out the ukases of the Autocrat with fiendish delight, and who are the catspaws of the Persecutor of our race. What mercy ought I to expect from you, General Martianoff, who sent Anna Ivanovna to the mines merely because she displeased you, and who condemned Paul Souvaroff to solitary confinement in Petropaulovsk for no offence except that he endeavoured to save a defenceless woman from your merciless clutches. It is——” “Silence! Wench!” he thundered. “I will not be hushed when you insult me! You talk of love—you—whose dissolute habits are as well-known as the yellow ticket of shame you would thrust upon us Jewesses. I begged bread from you, and you refused. See! there is the result!” and she pointed to where the body lay. His face had grown livid, and rushing towards her, he grasped her roughly by the shoulder. “I have not come here on a fool’s errand,” he said fiercely; “I don’t intend that you shall evade me—you understand?” “Let me go!” she demanded, struggling to get free. “Help! help!” she cried. “Silence! Curse you!” he growled, striking her a heavy blow upon the mouth. Although stunned for a few moments she continued to struggle desperately.