"Have a care yourself," exclaimed a harsh voice in front,--the voice of a red-bearded individual in a blue caftan. "Would you ride over me?" he added fiercely, grasping the bridle of one of the horses. His was a voice which Katina had previously heard that same day in the parlor of her own inn. Springing immediately to her feet, she looked fearlessly around. "In the name of the princess," she cried, "I call upon all loyal citizens of Russograd to arrest that man and to convey him to the Citadel, for he is an escaped prisoner." "The more welcome for that!" said the man with the bloody smear. "In the name of the Czar," cried the spy, "I call upon all loyal citizens of Russograd to arrest that woman, and to convey her to Orenburg, for she is an escaped prisoner, a fugitive from Russian justice. What?" he continued, advancing into the ring of space around the troika, "do you not know Katina Ludovska, the Polish harlot with whom Zabern takes his pleasures?" Quivering with indignation, Katina leaped from the troika, bent on chastising the insulter. One lash from the thong of her whip would have laid open his cheek as effectually as a sabre-stroke; but ere she could carry out her purpose, the more prudent Paul had laid hand upon her belt and swung her lightly back again. "And do you not recognize this fellow?" continued Russakoff, pointing to Trevisa. "He is the princess's paramour; private secretary is the name used in court circles." A coarse laugh greeted these words. "The princess will never marry the duke. Why? Because the secretary has poisoned her mind against him." The mob grew more menacing in their attitude. Katina laughed defiantly. Trevisa glanced around, wondering what had become of the night watch appointed to patrol the streets of Russograd. Paul, casting about for a way of escape, observed that the crowd facing the horses was but a few ranks deep. If Trevisa and he put on a bold front, while Katina plied her whip vigorously, there was a possibility of breaking through the hostile circle. He whispered this idea to the two, who both nodded assent. "Be it known to all that the princess has arrested our duke for duelling. And here," continued Russakoff, pointing to Paul, "is the man that fought with him. Before St. Nicholas I speak the truth. I lie not," he added, taking out one of those sacred icons which the Russian usually carries with him, and kissing it as he spoke. "The princess imprisons the duke; she lets this man go free. Men of Russograd, is this justice?" "No! No!" cried the mob. It was impossible to rescue their beloved duke from the grim Citadel with its massive walls loop-holed with artillery; it was impossible to do hurt to "Natalie the Apostate" in her strong palace, which the foresight of the ministers had surrounded with a military cordon. But here were persons almost as obnoxious as the princess herself, and a hurricane of yells arose from all sides, the women exhibiting more fury than the men.