“No,” said Katerin, “I do not wish you to go alone. We shall go together—and if we must, we shall die together. But we cannot go against the designs of God—if the American officer has been sent to this city by friends to save us, we must not lose a minute in making ourselves known to him. The Ataman said he would come back—and he will come. He knows what I fear more than death. Very good. We must not wait here for him to come—It is not in us to lie hidden here like jackals in traps for the pleasure of the Mongol dog. We must flee with all possible speed toward the American.” “You are right,” agreed Michael. “Zorogoff will lose no time if he learns of this American—and perhaps he knows of the stranger now. At least, as Wassili heard it, it must be common gossip in the city. So whatever Zorogoff plans against us he will accomplish without delay. But how are we to escape from the house? Are we to go out openly, as we are?” “We shall escape through the servants’ gate,” said Katerin, her eyes on the candle as she planned. “It will be safer to wear the clothing of peasants. If there is a morning fog, it will help to conceal us. The greatest risk is in being seen as we get into the street. We cannot know how closely the house is being watched. But once clear and into the street, who is to think that two poor peasants are Michael Kirsakoff and his daughter—unless we should be stopped by soldiers and made to tell what our business is, where we came from, and who we are.” “True, that is the difficulty,” said Michael. “But as you say, if we once get to the hotel, Slipitsky, the old Jew, if he is still alive, will take us to the American. Do you know if Slipitsky is still in charge of the Dauria, Wassili?” “When I heard last, master, Slipitsky still lived,” said the _moujik_. “Am I to go with the master and the mistress and do what I can to protect them?” “No,” said Katerin. “You would be recognized and betray our identity to observers. You are to stay here with the old woman, and if we die, you shall be rewarded for your loyalty. Bring us old boots—the worst you can find—and cabbages to carry in a bundle, that we may appear to be peasants come in from the country to market.” Wassili went out and at once Katerin began plans and preparations for their flight from the house. By the time the morning sun revealed a white fog over the landscape everything was in readiness. An old shawl had been filled with packets of rubles wrapped in old newspapers, and on top had been put her sable coat and other clothing. But before the shawl was tied up at the corners, three cabbages had been put in on top so that they showed through the openings. The thick fog of morning gave promise that they could get away from the house without being observed, unless there were sentries close by the servants’ gate.