“Not yet, by the kindness of God,” whispered Michael, and turning to his daughter, said, “Also Katerin Stephanovna has come with me. You must hide us both, for we are beset by the Ataman and have fled away from our house to save our lives.” “True enough, it is Michael Alexandrovitch, his Excellence who was Governor!” whispered Slipitsky as if assuring himself that he was not deceived by his eyes. He clapped his hands over his ears. “It was said that you were both dead! Four months ago I heard you had been killed! Is it that you have risen from the dead by a miracle, my old friends? By the patriarchs! This is a sight for me! Both of you—and dressed in poor rags like serfs come in from a farm to sell butter!” Katerin had exposed her face and smiled joyfully at the old Jew. “Take care or you will be heard speaking to us and we shall be betrayed,” warned Michael. “No one must know we are here, or Zorogoff comes——” “Enough!” cried Slipitsky, and ran out from behind his desk, keys jangling in his pockets, and shot the bolt on the door. “As you say, the place is like a beehive with spies,” he whispered, turning back to Michael. “That rascal, Dazo, below stairs is one of Zorogoff’s men, I know! The Cossacks made me make a place for him there at the door to watch—but I know he is an underground for the Ataman!” “Then we shall be delivered,” said Michael, pulling up his muffler over his face again. “If it be already known to him that we are here——” “We must fool him,” said Slipitsky. “What is the good of having a head if we do not use it? You must go out again and——” “But where shall we stay?” demanded Michael, alarmed at the Jew’s saying they must go. To be turned into the streets again meant certain capture by soldiers of the Ataman. “Please, you must hide us for our lives!” pleaded Katerin. “If you do not hide us somewhere we shall be killed!” “We shall all be killed!” exclaimed Slipitsky. “Take off your covering and let me see your face again, mistress! Ah, yes, it is you! Can you doubt that I will not do what I can for old friends? Be patient.” “Then we can stay?” asked Katerin. “But what of the spy below? Will he not reveal us?” “We are desperate,” urged Michael. “Zorogoff has given us the mental torture—if he finds us again he will take my daughter to his palace to——” “Toosh!” exploded Slipitsky. “Zorogoff is not to find you. I have known persecution in my day—who of my people have not? And in your time you were good to some of my friends. Ah, I never forget, my friend! I will hide you well. But if Zorogoff knows, then we are all dead together—as dead as the prophets! That Ataman is a robber, Excellence! Every week I must pay him money till I am beggared. Taxes, he calls it! Is the last kopeck from a poor man taxes, I ask? And every name that goes in the book he watches, for fear I would have a stranger under my roof who might be a spy against him! And that dog of a Dazo is his eyes. But we must fool Dazo, as you shall see.”