The clatter of horses' hoofs and the rattle of the horseshoes over the stony pavements interrupted for a while their conversation. From a side street ahead rode out a Cossack patrol, consisting of several scores of men. They rode slowly, with carabines resting upon their thighs and looked about cautiously. At the sight of them, Pauly became somewhat pale, while Laskowicz began to whisper: "That is nothing. They see that I am carrying flowers from the store. They will take me for a gardener and will ride by." In fact they did pass by. "They are now arresting every moment people on the streets in whole crowds," said Laskowicz. "To some one else that would be a small matter; but if I once fall into their clutches, I will never be able to get out again." "Well, what do you intend to do?" "Carry these flowers for you, little lady." "And after that?" "I do not know." "Of course you must have some acquaintances who will hide you." "I have, I have! But the police have their eyes upon all my acquaintances. Every night there is a search. For the last two nights I slept in a printing establishment, but today they discovered the printing press." A moment of silence followed. After which Laskowicz again spoke in a gloomy voice: "There is now no help for me. I will deliver these flowers and go wherever my eyes will take me." But in the heart of the girl suddenly there awoke a great pity for him. Before that she was indifferent to him. At present she only saw in him a Polish student hunted, like a mad dog, by people whom she of old despised. Therefore on her energetic and obstinate countenance, inflexible determination was depicted. "Come what may, I will not desert you," she said, knitting her dark brows. Laskowicz was suddenly seized with a desire to kiss her hand and would have done so if they were not on the street. He was moved not only by the hope of escape, but also by the fact that this girl, who hardly knew him, who did not belong to his camp, was ready to expose herself to the greatest dangers in order to come to his aid. "What can the little lady do? Where will she hide me?" he asked quietly. But she walked on with brows knitted by the strain of continuous thinking, and finally said: "I know. Let us go." He shifted the flower-pot to the left hand. "I must tell you," he said with lowered voice, "that the least punishment for concealing me is Siberia. I must tell you that! And I might cause your destruction, but in the first moments--the little lady understands--the instinct of preservation--there was no time for reflection." The little lady did not very well understand what the instinct of preservation was, but instead understood something else. This was that if she brought him, as she intended, to Gronski's, she would expose to danger not only Gronski but also Krzycki. And under the influence of this thought she stood as if stupefied. "In such a case, I do not know what I can do," she said.