What indeed? What could their scattered forces do against those mighty walls, in the bare dozen hours that remained? The two men gazed at each other in silence. After a moment Drexel gave a start. “There is only one chance!” he breathed quickly. “And that?” “I am certain General Valenko does not know whom he condemned. If he is told, he may do something.” “And then again he may not. You know what a stern old Roman he is.” “But he loves his daughter!” “And even if he wants to save them he may be able to do little,” continued Sabatoff. “In the eyes of the Government Sonya and Borodin are flagrantly guilty. The Government may be inclined to treat them with especial harshness as examples to warn the rest of the nobility from the same course.” “But he may be able to postpone the execution,” Drexel cried desperately. “Or have it changed to exile to Siberia for life. This is better, at least, than death in a few hours. It is worth trying!” “Worth trying--yes. I was not against the plan. I was merely pointing out that we should be conservative in our hopes--that there is only a bare chance.” “A bare chance, yes--but an only chance! I shall go at once!” Sabatoff caught his arm. “Wait! It’s walking into the lion’s den. He may put his duty above his love. If he does, he will surely arrest the messenger as being another revolutionist. I shall go myself.” There was a debate upon this point, but Sabatoff had to yield. “Very well. But you must not go to him in that uniform; that may suggest to him that you are the stranger who escaped last night as a gendarme. I shall send my servants away on errands for half an hour, and in the meantime you can get into some of my clothes and leave the house unobserved.” Twenty minutes later Drexel slipped cautiously from the house, and after walking swiftly for a block caught a sleigh. As he sped along he built a plan upon his hope that Sonya’s sentence might be commuted to exile to Siberia. He would organize a secret expedition, manage her escape from the mines of Eastern Siberia or from some stockaded prison above the Arctic circle, fly with her to the Pacific coast and carry her to safety in America. As he drew up before the Valenko palace he cast a glance up at the softly glowing windows of the princess’s sick-room, then hurriedly rang. Luckily the general was in and Drexel was ushered back into his home office. The general rose from his papers and greeted Drexel with that finished courtesy which even the harshest of Russia’s high officials bestow upon foreigners. “You left us very suddenly out at Prince Berloff’s, Mr. Drexel,” he said. “You have just got back from Moscow, I suppose.” “Yes,” said Drexel. “In good time for Miss Howard’s marriage. And how is my niece?” “I have not yet seen her.” “Ah, out I suppose. She is in great demand. She will make a very popular Russian, your cousin.” He held out a golden cigarette case. “I don’t care to smoke--thank you, prince.”