“We have a fire in the stove,” she said to her father. “Who is to look for paper rubles in a burning stove? When the soldiers come to search, you have a fire going in an instant. And the wood can burn and not harm the rubles.” “We could not do better,” said Michael. “Your wits will save us yet. And that money is all that stands between you and beggary—even I, alive, without the fortune, could not save you from hunger and cold. There is your treasure! It must be saved to you, my daughter, at all cost.” “I care only for you, my father,” said Katerin. “And now you are tired and worn—to bed, for we must keep our strength and have our sleep, even though disaster crouches in the future.” She kissed him, and went to her own room to get behind the blankets which curtained the window and to blow a tiny hole in the frost coating the pane. Outside, the night was brilliant, with a haloed moon throwing a silvery sheen over the glistening plains, with a tree here and there doubly black from its shadow on the powdery snow. Out in the end of the street the fire of the sentries was burning redly. It threw into heavy relief the black forms squatting about the glowing coals. “Merciful God!” she whispered in prayer. “Are we to be saved? Help must come to us, or we perish!” She closed the blankets and went back to her father’s room. She made sure that he was properly covered, kissed him tenderly, and took away the candle, for she had known him to lie all night smoking cigarettes till the dawn by candle light. In her own room once more, she prayed before the icon, and prepared for bed. Worn out with the worry of the day and anxiety for what the new day might bring, she finally fell asleep. But the next day came and went without any word or sign from the Ataman that he was dissatisfied with the report of Captain Shimilin. Several days passed, and still there was nothing to indicate that Zorogoff would annoy them again. Michael began to have hopes that something would happen which might distract the attention of the usurper from them. But every hour they lived in expectation of another visit from Captain Shimilin—and no news came that the American troops were moving up the railroad to give protection to the people. Michael seemed to grow weaker as time passed. He fretted under the restraint of what was practically imprisonment. He worried constantly about the future for Katerin’s sake. He devised many a scheme by which they were to escape from the city, only to abandon each one when Wassili returned from buying food in the market and reported that Zorogoff’s soldiers were guarding every outlet from Chita.