Shimilin’s face took on a sly look. “Is it that you do not like the Ataman Zorogoff? Are you opposed to his rule?” “I suppose Zorogoff would give up his power if we said we preferred another ruler,” retorted Katerin. “If you came here to trick us into saying anything against Zorogoff, it will not be said. And it takes little of your breath to talk of millions of rubles. Does the Ataman expect us to hand over to him a fortune which does not exist?” “You talk like all the others,” said Shimilin wearily. “Partridges are killed with silver bullets—and so are robbers. An army cannot live on air. The Ataman needs money.” “Protection from bandits! What difference does it make whether bandits and looters take our money, or Zorogoff?” asked Michael sharply. “If we had the money—what would it matter to us who got it if we lost it?” “The Ataman asks a loan,” said Shimilin. “His government will repay you. Am I to tell the Ataman that you regard him as a robber?” “We have but a few rubles,” said Katerin hastily, to prevent her father from saying something which would draw the wrath of the captain, for the old man was showing his anger and was ready to defy Shimilin. “It is all the money we have left.” “How much?” asked Shimilin. “Probably ten thousand rubles,” said Katerin. “I have not counted it lately, but it is all we have to buy our food. What shall we eat if you take it?” Shimilin smiled. “That is not my problem. You can find more money, or borrow. But we know you have plenty. Ten thousand rubles will not satisfy the Ataman. I will take it, but only with the understanding that it is mine—to intercede with the Ataman for you. You might find it difficult to argue with his soldiers—in his military prison.” Katerin shrugged her shoulders. “True. If the Ataman should want to send us to prison, we could not prevent him. At least, he would have to feed us there.” “And is that the way Zorogoff will protect us from robbers?” demanded Michael. “If we have no more money, we must go to prison, eh! And that is what Zorogoff calls ruling, I presume. Hah!” Katerin went behind the screen which shielded her bed and returned with a large lacquered cabinet. She opened it and took out several packets of rubles of the old Imperial issue. “This is our fortune,” she said, with a gesture at the casket, and turned away. “Do you expect the Ataman to believe that?” asked Shimilin, as he stood up and looked into the casket. “I cannot do the Ataman’s thinking,” she retorted. “I do not give it—you must take it.” Shimilin got into his greatcoat, and leisurely stuffed his pockets with the packets. When he had taken the last, he bowed to the glowering Michael in a show of politeness. “I will do what I can with the Ataman in your behalf,” he said. “But I doubt if I will be able to alter his intentions toward you—and I am sure that we shall meet again.” And Shimilin made a gesture to his two soldiers, walked through the door, and the trio clumped down the stairs.