When they were ready to depart, Michael put on the ancient gray coat—that one which was padded with paper rubles. He belted the shabby garment about him with an old rope and dropped his pistol into a side pocket. A dirty old sheepskin cap covered his head and a long muffler was wound about his neck, the ends trailing over his back. With the muffler pulled up over his face he could see through the mesh of the fabric, but his face was concealed. He also carried a short-stocked whip with a dozen lashes, such as the farmers carry with them. In such attire it was hard to believe that he had been a general of the Czar and once Governor—now he was but a bent old _moujik_ who thought of nothing but his crops and what money he could get for the few provisions he was carrying into the city. Katerin wrapped her head in an old shawl, tied a raggy towel across her nose against the cold, and drew the shawl down over her brow so that she peered out through a narrow slit. Her chin was concealed in the collar of a dirty and torn coat which had been mended with many faded patches. She wore a discarded pair of Wassili’s boots, which had been retrieved from the wagon-shed, where they had been hung up to be used for hinges or pieces of leather for repairs. But she also took with her in the bundle her light shoes and her slippers. When she finally picked up the bundle with the cabbages, she was a poor farmer’s daughter come in from the plains to sell her cabbages and buy salt and candles in the bazaar—and say a prayer at the church. Before they set out from the house Wassili was sent into the street and pottered about the casks at the small door in the wall to see whether the house was being closely watched. He came back soon and reported that he could see no one. The old woman who had been doing the cooking stood crying and rubbing her eyes with her red hands as she saw the mistress ready to go forth and face the dangers of the city. She cried and prayed by turns, being sure that disaster awaited them both. Michael quieted her by a plentiful handful of rubles and an assurance that if they made to the hotel safely, she should be provided for before they escaped the city—but the old woman was disconsolate. “God go with you, master and mistress,” said Wassili, as he said farewell. He stood in the kitchen door and watched Michael and Katerin slip through the gate, bent on reaching the hotel and seeking the help of the American officer against the menace of Zorogoff. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XII HIDDEN AGAIN MICHAEL trudged along stolidly through the dirty snow in the middle of the street, his head bent against the cold in peasant style. Katerin followed him, close behind, carrying the bundle which showed the cabbages.