The old general put his hand on her head and caressed her gently, his eyes full of tears and his body shaking with his sorrow for her. “I know, little father,” she whispered, taking his hands in hers and kissing the withered skin. “But your life is dear to me—so dear that I would do as you say to save you to me. But I cannot believe that this young man intends to harm us. He is a Russian, true enough, but have you lost faith in all of our people? And this Peter Petrovitch appears to be kind and gentle. You and Slipitsky think in the old ways—only the old thoughts of violence and death. This man has been to America and he may not be an enemy at all. But if it is true that he is seeking you out for evil, then we must be sure of that before we do anything against him.” “And how are you to find it out? Can you go to him and tell him that I am in the next room and ask him what he seeks me for? Do you forget that he is using peasants to trace me?” “I shall learn his secret,” declared Katerin. “A woman has her own ways for such things—if he hunts you, he shall first tell me, and the why of it.” “Ah, you women trust too much,” said her father. “This is a matter in which no time must be lost with wiles. We must know before the Ataman finds——” “I, too, think of the Ataman,” put in Katerin. “What if the American, though an enemy, should protect us from the Ataman?” Michael gave her an incredulous stare. “Impossible!” he said. “But it is not impossible,” insisted Katerin, who already had the inspiration of a sudden way out of the difficulty. “What if I should tell this American that I am seeking Michael Alexandrovitch? Would he not confide in me then? And if both of us are seeking you, it is not likely that he will keep his secret from me—especially if I should admit to him that I plan to have your life.” Michael sat down upon the bed, speechless for a moment at the boldness of the plan. “Holy Saints!” he whispered after a minute. “You would do that, Katerin Stephanovna? That is something worthy of the best of the Czar’s police! Ah, but you will be playing with fire—you will need your wits at every instant.” “True, I shall need my wits,” said Katerin. “I am willing to play with fire, and match my wits against the stranger. And when I learn what I want—then we shall need our wits all the more.” “I am old and my head is addled,” said Michael. “Sometimes I think I must be going mad—here I am, who was governor, hiding in my own city, helpless and with——” There came a cautious knock at the door. Katerin went to it, and heard Slipitsky’s voice outside. She let him in—and with him was Wassili! “You stupid one!” exclaimed Michael at sight of the old _moujik_. “Why have you come here? The Ataman will——” Slipitsky made frantic signals for quiet, and when he had shot the bolt behind him, threw up his hands in an attitude of resignation.