When was he not ready to do it? It was the reason the brutal pair loved each other so well that there was nothing so mad devised by the one that the other was not ready to join in. Song followed the carousal. Daimona began the _Knife Song_, and Araktseieff joined in the chorus. For the sweetest of all the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge is when a smooth courtier, whose wont is to flatter, to bow, and to scrape, in the privacy of his chamber can tune up a revolutionary song, and blacken his sovereign and fellow-courtiers to his heart's content. "Let's have it over again! Where's a glass?" He always dashed his empty glasses against the wall. But instead of the glass, Schinko brought on his silver salver a letter, which a mounted messenger had just delivered. Araktseieff at once knew the handwriting on the cover. Releasing himself from Daimona's arms, he sprang up from the divan, and, hastily wiping his mouth, pressed the letter to his lips and forehead; then said, in a hollow voice: "Give me the scissors." "What do you want with scissors? Break it open with your fingers." "Give me the scissors when I ask for them!" shouted he, angrily, and snatched roughly at the pair hanging from Daimona's girdle. And as with trembling hand he cut the seal, he said, feverishly, "One does not break the Czar's seal." "The Czar's seal?" repeated Daimona, astounded. It did not take Araktseieff long to read his letter. Besides the signature were two words only--"Come back!" "Bring water! Cold water!" he said, imperiously, to Schinko. And as he, not knowing the wherefore, returned with a bucket of water, his master, seizing the utensil with both hands, took a deep draught from it. Daimona's astonishment increased more and more. "What is the matter?" "I must set off this very instant!" gasped Araktseieff. "Hurry, Schinko; let them put the horses to; twelve horsemen to accompany me with torches; and one to ride on before to secure post-horses. Fly!" "You are going away?" asked Daimona, amazed. "Instantly! The Czar commands!" "And you hurry back at his request?" "As a Cossack pony answers to his master's whistle." "And will not be taking part in to-morrow's sport?" "I must deny myself the gratification." "You are going to leave me?" asked she, reproachfully. "You do not love me any more?" "The Czar has deigned to write with his own hand," returned Araktseieff, handing her the letter. "What do I care about his writing?" screamed Daimona; and, snatching at the letter, she cut out a piece with her scissors, which so enraged Araktseieff that he struck her violently on the hand. "You have struck me! You are going away, and have struck me!" And, turning her face away, the woman wept bitterly. But Araktseieff had no time to pacify her now. "_Seisasz!_ This means that the crisis is past." Had there been an ocean before him he must have swam across it. How much more, then, a few woman's tears!