“Yes, that was the Governor’s daughter. Her coming was his reason for meeting the sledge that morning. Well, I was eager to be sure that the almanacs had come—and a Cossack knocked me down because I called to the Governor’s daughter for news of the almanacs. And when Michael Alexandrovitch, the Governor, came to the sledge he found my father picking me up. I was bleeding and stunned from the blow. And the Governor was in a rage at us—that my father should be making trouble—and ordered him to be stricken from the free gang and put back in the prison once more—and me with him.” “But you said your father was killed,” said Katerin. “Yes, as I say,” replied Peter. “My father”—and Peter inclined his head toward the icon in the corner over Michael’s head—“my father was so broken in spirit at knowing he was no longer of the free gang and that I was to go to prison, that he ran after Kirsakoff. It was then that a Cossack ran my father through with a saber—and swore that my father had struck at the Governor with a knife—a leather knife which he pulled from my father’s pocket.” “But did the Governor know—could he know—of this terrible happening?” asked Katerin. “Ay, did the Governor know?” echoed Michael. “Know!” cried Peter. “What would he have cared if he did know? He had just ordered us both to prison for nothing! And did he care enough to investigate the case during the three months I was inside a black cell—to give me my freedom? No! He forgot all about it and me, even if he did know what had happened? Does he care now what the fate of you and your daughter may be? I tell you, sir, I must find Michael Kirsakoff! And you must be the one who puts me on the right road!” “True, you must find him,” said Katerin. “Now we know that you have good reason for wanting him.” “Thank you,” said Peter fervently. “I knew that when you saw my story as I could tell it, you would realize that above all things, I must find Kirsakoff.” “What was the name of your father?” asked Michael. “Gorekin—Peter Pavlovitch—a bootmaker.” “Gorekin!” gasped Michael, his head snapping back in his amazement. “Gorekin!” “Have you heard of him?” asked Peter, with a quick look at the old general. “I thought for a moment I knew the name,” said Michael. “But if you say he was a bootmaker, it must have been another. No, not if he was a bootmaker—and this man I knew less than ten years ago.” Michael looked at Wassili, and put a hand upon the table beside him, keeping the other under the blanket. He began to drum with his fingers, deep in reflection. No word was spoken for several minutes. Peter could hear Wassili breathing behind the chair. “You have our sympathy,” said Katerin. “And you must find the Governor. If you will give me time to talk it over with my father——” She gave Peter a significant look, which he interpreted to mean that it would be wiser not to press now for information about Kirsakoff, but to leave it in her hands.