Katerin, kneeling in front of the icon, fell forward upon the floor at the sound of the volley. Shimilin, still at the window, stood gazing across the room at her, a puzzled look upon his face, as if he did not know what to do next. He heard Wassili wailing in the kitchen below, and from the court came the sounds of metal being thrust into flinty soil and laughter and joking comments from soldiers. Katerin lay still for several minutes. Then she sat up, and stared at Shimilin as if she had just been awakened from a dream and was still in doubt about her surroundings and why she should be there. “It is finished,” said Shimilin. “Your father is dead. I am sorry for you, but the Ataman must be obeyed. If you will give up the money now, I will protect you.” She did not answer him, but continued to stare at him, attempting to grasp what had happened. “You have killed my father!” she whispered, putting her hands up to her cheeks. “You have killed my father! And now you want me to pay you for it!” “It is Zorogoff who has killed your father,” said Shimilin. “I obey his orders—as you must.” He walked over to Katerin and held out his hand to help her to her feet. But she evaded him, and stood up. “You are a murdering dog,” she said quietly, hatred and revulsion in her look as she shrank away from him. “You lied to us—and you lie now! You are no better than the Mongol—worse than Zorogoff, for he would not kill his own kind for you!” “Take care!” he warned, moving toward her threateningly. “Take care! My soldiers are still below.” She cried out with rage against him, and sprang at him and struck him in the face with her open hand. Then she threw up her arm and whirled away from him, to run behind the screen of her bed as if to get a weapon. But Shimilin grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her back into the center of the room. She tore away from him. “Kill me!” she cried. “There is nothing left in life for me now. Kill me, too!” “No, I will not kill you,” said Shimilin suavely. “We do not kill women like you too soon, Katerin Stephanovna.” “You are swine!” she raged. “You told us my father was to go to the Ataman. Talk to me no more, but kill me here!” Shimilin said nothing, but stood looking at her with every sign of being on the verge of complying with her command. But he did not put hand to pistol. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and smiled, went to the bed behind the screen and pulled off a blanket. He threw it to her but she let it fall upon the floor. “Take the blanket,” he said gruffly. “You may have death if you want it, but not by my hand. Take the blanket and come with me to the soldiers below.” Katerin kicked the blanket aside. “I do not fear the cold any more than I fear death,” she said quietly, and moved to the door. “Come! I will show you how a Russian woman can die!”