Chapter VI: Katina the Patriot

AS Paul and Trevisa emerged from the woodland and turned upon the highroad, there drew near a cloaked figure with steel scabbard clinking against spurs.

"Marshal Zabern!" exclaimed the ex-secretary. "How? Are you not escorting the princess to Slavowitz?"

"I have a little matter to despatch at the hostelry called 'Sobieski's Rest.' Her Highness has therefore condescended to relieve me from escort-duty."

"Your way is our way, for at that inn we left our troika. Marshal Zabern," continued Trevisa, presenting Paul, "my friend--need I mention his name?--Captain Paul Woodville."

"No man whose friendship I desire more," said Zabern, raising his plumed helmet.

He had taken a liking for Paul,--the liking of a brave soldier for a compeer.

"I have always esteemed Englishmen," continued Zabern, "since the day I ran from them at Waterloo."

"You have fought under the great Napoleon, then?" said Paul.

"For a brief space. As a lad of eighteen I took part in the Moscow campaign. When Napoleon sounded the tocsin of war against Russia, who joined him with more enthusiasm than the Poles, eager to avenge their country's wrongs? Did not his emissary, the Abbé de Pradt, promise at Warsaw that his imperial master had determined to expel the Muscovites from Europe, and to replace them with Poles? Trusting to these words, sixty thousand of us marched with the Grand Army upon Moscow. Heavens! shall I ever forget the fierce thrill of joy that pervaded our ranks as we drew rein and gazed upon the golden spires and domes of the city of the Great Enemy, flashing on the far-off horizon. Yes," continued Zabern, his eye kindling at the recollection, "yes, we took their holy city, so-called, and planted the Polish eagles upon the ramparts of the Kremlin, as our fathers had done before us in the glorious days of old."

"And it has been the dream of the marshal's life," smiled Trevisa, "to renew that experience."

"That experience, but not _this_!"

And here the speaker pushed back the sleeve of his right arm, and Paul perceived what he had not noticed before, namely, that Zabern was minus a hand.

"You know the sequel," continued the marshal. "We were compelled to retire, defeated not by superiority in valor, but by famine and the rigor of a Russian winter. And, my God! what a winter that was!" continued Zabern, shivering as if he still felt the effects of the cold. "The frost was so intense that it penetrated flesh, sinew, and bone, rendering the limbs as white and brittle as alabaster. In repelling an attack of Cossacks I aimed a sabre-stroke at a fellow's head, feeling in the next moment a curious sensation at the wrist; and there, lying before me upon the snow, and still grasping the sabre-hilt, was my own hand. It had dropped off at the joint, as you see."

"Good God!" cried Trevisa.

"Eh? well, yes, it was rather awkward, for it was the right hand, you see, and never having accustomed myself to employ the left I was rendered completely useless for the rest of the campaign. However, I have repaired the deficiency, and here is a hand as good as the lost one," continued Zabern, holding up his left hand. "So ended my first experience with the Russians."

"You fought them again?" inquired Paul.

"At many times and in many places. I have aided Georgians in the Caucasus, and Turks on the Danube. And when secret tidings came to me that Poland was preparing to vindicate its freedom against the tyranny of the viceroy Constantine, brother of the present Czar, I hastened to take part in the enterprise. Her Highness's father, Prince Thaddeus, would not permit Czernova to be drawn into the movement; selfishly, as we then thought; wisely, as we now perceive.

"The rising began at Warsaw in a conspiracy to seize the person of the Grand Duke Constantine. I was one of the eighteen appointed for the purpose. At nightfall we set off for the palace, slew the guards, and penetrated to the vice-regal bedchamber. But we were just a few seconds too late. Roused from sleep by the clash of arms, and the shouting, Constantine had sprung from the bed, thrown a cloak over himself, and fled by a secret staircase communicating with the palace gardens."

"The insurrection failed?"

"For a year we offered a gallant resistance to all the might of Russia. But what can valor effect against numbers? We gained victories, and those great ones; but if we slew ten thousand of the enemy on one day, there was a second ten thousand to replace them on the morrow. We had no such reserves to fall back upon. And then, too, the damned Russians brought the cholera with them, an ally that proved far more fatal than their arms; though, the saints be praised! it carried off the tyrant Constantine. On the taking of Warsaw I became one of a band of prisoners condemned to march in chains four thousand miles over the winter snow to Siberia."

"And you escaped?"

"After five years, and have found asylum in Czernova. And here I am to-day, fifty-three years of age, and good for a deal more mischief yet," continued Zabern with a grim twinkle in his eye. "To see me holding the post of minister is gall and wormwood to the Russians; they have required my extradition, but the princess has resolutely refused to grant it."

Such in brief was the history of Zabern, and though his attempts to win freedom for his country were deserving of sympathy, Paul could not avoid a feeling of regret that Barbara should have admitted to her ministry such a firebrand as this patriot, whose undoubted aim was to utilize the resources of Czernova against Russia, should a favorable opportunity occur.

"By the way, Trevisa," said the marshal, turning to the ex-secretary, "you must not let the princess's frown diminish your interest in the cipher letter found upon the spy Russakoff. Read me that riddle, and I will undertake to restore you to favor."

"I fear my restoration will not come upon those terms," said Trevisa, lugubriously. "The cipher is a most baffling one. I should have a clue if you could name the writer."

"How so?"

"The first step in a problem of this sort is to know in what language the document is written; and of this I am ignorant. How, then, can I proceed? The principles of decipherment which an expert applies to one language fail when applied to another. But if I learn who the author is, and I discover that he knows, say, Russian only, the inference is that the document is written in that language; I apply certain principles deduced from a study of Russian, and the result is decipherment. The knowledge that the writer is versed in several languages would, of course, enhance the difficulty; but still, with time and patience success is certain. Have you no clue as to the writer?"

Zabern was silent. He glanced at Paul as if wishing him away.

"I will step aside for a moment," said Paul.

"Not so," replied Trevisa. "Marshal, you can trust my friend Captain Woodville as surely as myself."

"Then on my honor as a soldier I believe that the Duke of Bora was either the author or the recipient of that letter."

"The duke!" cried Trevisa in amazement. "You accuse the duke of holding a treasonable correspondence with Russia? Impossible!"

"Why impossible?"

"Is it reasonable that he should seek to subvert the throne of a princess to whom he is affianced?"

Zabern smiled cynically.

"The duke has come to count it no great prize to have but a moiety of the throne, and to be mated withal to a little lady who will take no bidding from him, and therein small blame to her. The princess hath ever been cold to the match, and therefore the duke, doubtful of her affection, has begun to play a double part, or in other words, to intrigue with Russia. 'Dispense with the princess, and reign alone under the suzerainty of the Czar'--that is his secret ambition. What other conclusion can I come to, when I see him tampering with the Czernovese army? On frivolous pretexts he has removed Polish officers from their command, replacing them by such Muscovites as have at heart the interests of the Czar rather than those of the princess. Moreover, we have certain proof that our cabinet contains a member who reveals to Russia our secret counsels. You know the cabinet well, Trevisa; tell me whom to suspect. Radzivil?--absurd! Ravenna? What hath a Roman cardinal to gain by inviting the head of the Greek Church to take possession of Czernova? Dorislas? Then let me fall on my sword's point, so certain am I of never again finding faith among men, if he be traitor. Mosco, the Greek Arch-pastor? Hum! his zeal on behalf of the princess has perhaps diminished somewhat since her conversion to Catholicism, but he is more dullard than villain. Polonaski the Justiciary? I'll mention no more. When we would discover the author of a crime, we naturally fix our suspicions upon the man who has most to gain by the deed. Judged by this test the duke, and the duke alone, is the traitor. _Delendus est Bora!_ Czernova will never be sound till he be gone."

There was no reply from Trevisa, who seemed to be lost in deep thought. Then suddenly his eyes lightened as with some new and surprising idea.

"Marshal," said he emphatically, "you shall have a translation of that letter in the morning."

It took a good deal to surprise the marshal; nevertheless on the present occasion he was quite confounded.

"How? What?" he cried. "You claim to have discovered the key to the cipher, when but a minute ago you professed ignorance of the very language in which the letter is written?"

"The language is Greek," murmured Trevisa, almost breathless at his discovery, and talking more to himself than to his companions. "Yes, yes; I comprehend it all now. The most ingenious cipher ever devised. Nothing but an accident could have revealed the key. You are quite correct, marshal, in your estimate of the duke's character. He is a traitor, and that letter will prove it. I will work at it to-night, and to-morrow morning you shall have the result."

"Good!" replied Zabern, mystified, as was Paul likewise, by the suddenness with which Trevisa had arrived at the solution of a problem that during the past month had baffled his wit.

The shades of twilight were falling as the trio drew near to "Sobieski's Rest," an inn so called because the greatest of the Polish kings had once passed a night there. It was a spacious and picturesque hostelry, composed of a mixture of stone and timber, and shaded by overhanging birch-trees.

Outside the building, and holding two horses by the bridle, stood the trooper Nikita, Zabern's orderly, who had been sent on ahead to await the arrival of the marshal.

Bidding him remain at the entrance, Zabern passed within, and led the two Englishmen to a private apartment wainscotted with oak and decorated with elk-antlers.

"Poland has never been lacking in female beauty," remarked the marshal to Paul, "and I am about to present you to her fairest daughter after the princess. This inn is kept by a friend of mine,--an old companion-in-arms,--Boris Ludovski by name, once a wealthy noble of Warsaw. His zeal in the cause of Polish liberty has reduced him to the position of inn-keeper. Freedom often treats her children hardly. As this is a frontier-inn, and on the main road to Warsaw, it often happens that suspicious characters call here for a drink, and Boris's pretty daughter, Katina, being a maiden who keeps her eyes open, is sometimes enabled to supply the police of Slavowitz with valuable information. Hence my reason for coming here at this present moment, for it is just possible that she can tell me something of the spy Russakoff who escaped from the Citadel to-day. Ah! here is Katina herself."

The person who had entered was a typical Polish belle with fine dark hair and flashing eyes. Trevisa whispered to Paul that she was a descendant of Mazeppa, the famous hetman of the Ukraine; and certainly there was that in her elastic step, her fearless glance, her whole air that marked Katina Ludovska as a true daughter of the steppes, wild and untamable.

She was handsomely attired. Over a snow-white chemisette she wore a close-fitting dark red jacket, laced in front from neckband to waist; a polished black leather belt gleaming with silver bosses; and a dark blue skirt, prettily braided with silver,--a skirt which, swelling out below the waist, imparted a charming outline to her figure. A pair of red leather shoes completed her outward costume.

The marshal saluted her in Polish fashion by kissing her hand, while she in turn pressed her lips to his forehead. She gave the like greeting to Trevisa, who appeared to be well known to her, and this done she cast a glance of inquiry at the third comer.

"Paul?" she said with a pretty pout, after the marshal had introduced him, "why do you bear the same name as a Czar?"

"There is little of the Czar in him, however," remarked Zabern. "Why, Katina, Captain Woodville has fought against Russians in Asia."

"May he live to fight against them in Europe," said Katina; and Paul could see that she was a maiden quivering with patriotism to her finger-tips.

"Amen to that!" replied Zabern; and in an exultant tone he continued, "but I have tidings for you, Katina, tidings. The princess and the duke are riven asunder. She has plucked him from the cabinet, from the command of the army, and better still from her heart. Never shall Bora put wedding-crown upon the brow of the princess. He is of less account now in her eyes than the driven leaf in the wind-swept wood."

Katina expressed her delight by dancing the first steps of a graceful mazurka.

"Joy!" she cried. "I never liked that our fair princess should bide on bolster with a Russ, and a Russ who hath sworn at the drink to harness the Polish nobles to the yoke and with them plough his fields. And so John the Strong has fallen! How came it to pass?"

The marshal explained; and when Katina learned that Paul had been the direct cause of the duke's downfall she no longer withheld the kiss of friendship.

"You have wrought a good deed for Czernova, and I love you for it," she cried impulsively, pressing her lips to his forehead, not once, but twice. And though Katina was not the princess, Paul was fain to confess that she made a charming substitute.

"Shades of Kosciusko! what have we here?" cried Zabern, walking towards a smoke-begrimed oil-painting that hung upon one of the walls. "Fie, Katina! you, a daughter of Poland, to keep a portrait of the Czar--that Czar too who crushed us at Warsaw sixteen years ago, the haughty, frowning Nicholas!"

"Ah! you Muscovite wolf!" cried Katina, shaking her fist at the picture. "Lying Czar, that broke his coronation-oath to Poland. Where is the constitution you promised us? Grandson of an empress who was a--a--"

Katina suppressed the word that rose to her lips, for it was not a pretty epithet, though justly applicable to the moral character of Catherine II.

"Hold! let the grandmother be!" interposed Zabern. "Remember that Catherine gave to Czernova its Charter of liberty."

"I warrant the old beldam was drunk when she granted it."

"No matter, drunk or sober, it _was_ granted. And to-day we have that Charter, signed and sealed, locked in an iron chest, secured in a stone chamber, and guarded by soldiers night and day."

"And to think," said Katina, still on the subject of the portrait, and turning to the two Englishmen as she spoke, "to think that your sweet, youthful queen Victoria should allow herself to be embraced and kissed by this Muscovite bear when he parted from her at Windsor!"

"It wouldn't do to attempt the same with our princess,--eh, Katina?"

"No. Mild and gracious as she naturally is, I warrant she would flash a dagger before his eyes."

"Since you hate the original so," asked Paul, "why display his portrait?"

"To draw Russian customers, who like to have the face of their little father looking down upon them at the drink. Why should I not levy tribute from the enemy? Their kopeks all go to the good cause. The last visitors to this room were Muscovites; hence that side of the canvas. When Polish patriots come I have a fairer face to show. Behold!"

She turned the picture, and lo! on the back of the canvas was a well-executed portrait of the regnant Princess of Czernova.

"My pretty Janus!" laughed Zabern. "You should have been born a man. What a statesman you would have made! Come, I know your love for the princess. I'll reveal a truth that will make you love her still more. You have always believed her to be of the Greek Church; learn, now, that she is a Catholic."

"Are you not betraying a state secret?" smiled Trevisa.

"No; for the truth is known to all Czernova, or will be in a few hours. That damnable Russophile journal, the 'Kolokol,' came out this afternoon with a long article headed, 'Natalie the Apostate'--an article roundly accusing the princess of Catholicism. Of course the charge is true, and we can't deny it."

"Pity that the truth should first be proclaimed in the columns of a slanderous journal rather than by the princess's ministers from their places in the Diet! How did editor Lipski discover the secret?" asked Trevisa.

"How? Ask the duke," replied Zabern.

"There will be deep murmurings to-night in the Muscovite faubourg."

"Which can soon be quelled by a few rounds of grape-shot," commented Zabern, who, like the first Napoleon, was a great believer in the pacificatory virtues of artillery.

"'The princess and Catholicism!'" cried Katina. "Let that be our motto. What matters the defection of the Muscovites, since the Poles will now be doubly loyal."

"Well said, Katina. Pass me the vodka. To the resurrection of Poland!" continued Zabern, raising his glass. "Ah! Katina, when your father Boris and myself first drew breath, we had a motherland. Stanislaus was reigning, and Poland was free. To-day what is she?"

"A lioness in chains of whom the keeper is afraid. One day the lioness will break from her chains, and then woe betide the keeper!"

"You wonder, perhaps, at Katina's patriotism?" whispered Zabern to Paul. "You shall see that she hath good cause for it." And then aloud he added: "What said Czar Nicholas after suppressing the rising of 1830? 'Russia hath a mission to fulfil.' Katina, let the two Englishmen see how holy Russia fulfils her mission. Give them visible proof. You know what I mean."

Paul, entirely ignorant of Zabern's object, wondered why Katina should start, and why she should cast a glance of anguish at the speaker.

"Do you seek to humiliate me, marshal?"

"No, I seek to gain another sword for Poland," said Zabern gravely, with a significant glance at Paul.

The ordinary woman might very well have hesitated to comply with the marshal's request; but Katina was no ordinary woman. She walked a few paces off, placed the lamp upon the table in a suitable position, and then turning her back upon her visitors she began to unlace her jacket, and to loosen and cast back the white linen beneath. A startling act, truly, and yet performed with a modest air.

Holding the last vesture in position by its neckband, she said in a bitter tone: "The ignorant have sometimes complimented me upon my beautiful figure. See with what justice!"

The vesture dropped from her hand, and hung downward from her belt, leaving her form bared to the waist.

The fall of that linen was a revelation!

A sculptor would have been charmed with the fair rounded throat and white neck. But the torso below! It was no wonder that Katina made haste to hide it from view again.

"Her bosom is the same," whispered Zabern, "or rather it is destroyed. The long lash of the knout coils completely round its victim, you know."

"The knout!" cried Paul, thrilling with horror at the thought that such a dreadful instrument should have been applied to the delicate skin of a youthful maiden.

If it had been Zabern's object to win Paul over to the Polish cause he had succeeded. The most eloquent oration against Russian despotism could not have wrought such effect upon him as the bared back of this silent maiden.

"As there is a God in heaven, the nation that does such things must perish. What had she done to be treated thus?"

While Katina was silently replacing her garments the marshal proceeded to whisper her story.

"Katina's parents, who lived at Warsaw, gave shelter to a Polish patriot, and for this offence the whole Ludovski family were banished to the Uralian mines.

"Here Katina's beauty attracted the desires of the governor, Feodor Orloff; and, sending for her he offered to restore her family to liberty, upon what conditions you can guess, when I tell you that Katina's reply was a fierce blow from her open palm.

"The morrow happened to be the emperor's birthday, and Orloff with fiendish malice aforethought had the Polish exiles paraded before him, told them that they would be free from work that day, and in return for this boon required that they should cry 'God save the Czar,' Some refused, and among them the spirited Katina. Here was Orloff's opportunity. For disloyalty to the emperor, Katina was condemned to receive fifteen strokes of the knout.

"Have you ever seen a knouting? No? Well, I trust you never will, for it is not a pleasant sight, even though your nerves be of iron. I have been compelled to witness many such scourgings in Siberia, and I tell you that though Dante in his 'Inferno' has imagined many and various tortures for the damned, none of them are equal to the agony that an expert executioner can elicit with a few strokes of the knout.

"You must know that the victim, his wrist and ankles clasped by iron rings, is fixed to a sort of framework set erect in the ground--fixed in such a manner that he can make no movement, literally stretched as an eel's skin is stretched to dry.

"About twenty paces off stands the executioner, with sleeves tucked up, for nothing must embarrass the freedom of his movements. He holds in both hands the instrument of punishment--the knout. This is a thong of thick leather, cut triangularly, an inch in breadth, from nine to twelve feet long, and tapering to a point; this tapering end is fixed to a little wooden shaft about two feet in length.

"At the given signal the executioner advances, his body bent, and dragging the long lash between his legs. When he has arrived within three or four paces of his victim, he suddenly raises the knout above his head: the thong flies into the air, whistles, descends and clasps the naked torso of the sufferer as with a circle of iron. Notwithstanding his state of tension the victim bounds as if under a powerful shock of galvanism, at the same time uttering a shriek that, once heard, can never be forgotten. My God! Even now I often start from sleep with such a cry ringing in my ears.

"In drawing back the lash again the executioner has a way of pulling it along the edges of the opened flesh in such a manner as to widen and deepen the wound it has made.

"He retraces his steps and begins again the same manoeuvre as many times as the victim is condemned to suffer blows. When the thong envelops the body with its folds the flesh and the muscles are literally cut into segments, as with a razor. The victim, crimson with blood, foams at the mouth and writhes in fearful agonies.

"And so our pretty Katina, nude to the waist--but enough; you have imagination, you can picture the scene."

Katina herself with saddened air had now drawn near again, in her dark eyes a fire that spoke of a desire for vengeance.

"Katina," said Paul, impulsively, "if this Feodor Orloff be still living tell me where he may be found; I will seek him out, challenge, and slay him."

"No, brave Englishman, no. That vengeance belongs to me. No one must rob me of my due. And," she added with clenched hand and stern look, "the day is coming. Fate is drawing Count Orloff near to Czernova."

"True!" replied Zabern. "He has lately been appointed governor-general of Warsaw, a province bordering on our own."

"And his appointment bodes no good to Czernova," remarked Katina. "Marshal, I have a strange tale for your ears,--a tale I have been waiting the opportunity to relate. What will you say when I tell you that I have this very day seen the executioner who knouted me,--the minion of Orloff?"

"You are dreaming, Katina."

"No, marshal, no. It is difficult, I am aware, for the knouted person to see his executioner, but nevertheless I contrived to see the face of mine, and what is more I have seen it again to-day--this afternoon--in the room where we now are. I could not mistake those furtive reddish eyes, that horse-shoe mark on the cheek--"

"Heavens! Katina, what are you saying?" interrupted Zabern, with more excitement than he usually displayed. "That a man with a horse-shoe mark on his cheek has been here this afternoon? Had the fellow a blue caftan, a red beard, a trick of gnawing his finger-nails--?"

"You describe the very man, marshal."

"Russakoff, as I live! Your old executioner and my spy one and the same person! Can it be?--And he was here this afternoon? At what hour did he call?"

"About four o'clock."

"That would be five hours ago," observed Zabern, referring to his watch. "He must have made his way here directly after escaping from the Citadel, bent on crossing the frontier, doubtless. Let me have your story, Katina. Would that you had told it me earlier!"

"This afternoon," Katina began, "I was returning from a walk, and on entering the inn met my sister, Juliska, carrying a tray with two glasses. 'Katina,' she said, 'we have two very suspicious-looking visitors. They have asked for a private apartment and some vodka. Carry this in, and tell me what you think of them.' I took the tray from her hand and walked into this room.

"Two men were sitting here. One had his back to me; facing him was the other whom I recognized in a moment as the man who had knouted me at Orenburg. Why I did not drop the tray in surprise, how I contrived to check my cry, I do not know; I somehow succeeded in repressing my emotion."

"Did not the villain himself recognize you?"

"He did not look at me when I entered; his attention seemed wholly absorbed by the words of his companion. While placing the vodka on the table I kept my head averted from my old enemy, and took a glance at the other man, but I failed to see his face clearly, for his hat was pulled low over his brows, and the collar of his cloak was drawn up almost to his mouth. It was this peculiarity that had excited Juliska's suspicions. The brief glance I had of him disposes me to the belief that he was a man far higher in the social scale than the other."

"'Happy shall he be that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us,'" murmured Zabern. "Why did you not call upon your father and brothers to seize the knouter, and give him a taste of what he had made you suffer?"

"That idea, marshal, was running through my head. After placing the vodka upon the table I withdrew silently and quickly; and while in the act of closing the door I caught a remark uttered by the man who had knouted me."

"Call him Russakoff; 't will be simpler," suggested Zabern.

"Russakoff, then--to please you. 'You will not persuade me to return to Slavowitz,' he was saying. 'I have no wish to fall into Zabern's hands again.' My excitement increased, marshal, at this mention of your name. I resolved to try to learn something of their business before giving orders for their seizure; and, accordingly, since they were seated by the open window, beneath which is an immense leafy laurel, I stole outside and put myself in concealment there in the hope of overhearing their words.

"They conversed in low tones, but now and again, when their voices were raised in evident anger, I caught a few remarks.

"'I wonder that Orloff should employ a fool like you,' said Russakoff's companion; 'one unable to keep from the vodka, who takes part in a tavern brawl, and gets himself arrested while carrying an important political document! If that letter should be deciphered by the princess's secretary, it will lead to the frustration of a scheme by which the Czar hopes to gain possession of Czernova, legally and quietly, without the employment of military force.'"

"What?" cried Zabern. "Let me hear that again, Katina."

Katina repeated her words.

"Russia to obtain Czernova legally, without employing force! In the devil's name--how?"

Beneath their overhanging brows Zabern's gray eyes gleamed like polished cannon deep-set within embrasures.

Paul was equally startled by Katina's words. Was it possible that the Russian bureaucrats had discovered that the regnant princess was not the real Natalie Lilieska? If they could prove that she had no title to rule, the throne would devolve upon the Duke of Bora, who might of his own free will resign his rights to the Czar Nicholas as the next in succession.

Was this what Russakoff's companion meant when he spoke of a quiet and legal way of obtaining possession of Czernova?

Fear seized Paul as he began to realize that the same result could be attained by assassination. Over the body of Barbara, slain by the dagger of some Muscovite fanatic, the Czar might step to the throne of Czernova! Did the cipher-despatch relate to some such terrible plot?

"Proceed, Katina. Heard you aught else?"

"After some more whispering Russakoff raised his voice. 'No; it's a risky business. Besides, what are four hundred roubles?'--'We will double the sum if the work be done within twelve hours,' replied the other.

"It was quite clear to me that some mischief was afoot, and, though desirous of learning more, I feared that if I waited longer they might rise and depart before I should be able to have them seized. I stole off, summoned my two brothers, but, on entering the room--"

"Fire and brimstone! the birds had flown."

"You are not more vexed than I was, marshal."

"Were their glasses empty?"

"No; full."

"Ah! they had caught sight of you in hiding. A pity you delayed the seizure! You gave chase, I presume?"

"Marshal, we--my father, brothers, Juliska, the servants, myself--ran here and there; we looked in all directions, but failed to discover a trace of them. My father deeming the matter of great importance, immediately sent Juliska to Slavowitz to apprise you of it; but evidently you have not seen her."

"I must have left Slavowitz before she arrived. Katina, you have once more proved yourself a valuable auxiliary to the princess's government. So this spy is employed by one Orloff; and since he was certainly at one time in the service of Count Feodor Orloff, and inasmuch as he comes from Warsaw, and is evidently the agent of one high in authority there, we doubtless do the new governor-general no wrong in crediting him with a plot to overturn the independence of Czernova. If so, there will be a double pleasure in defeating him--eh, Katina? It will please him to learn that it was Ludovski's daughter that foiled his schemes, for I will take care that he shall learn it. My suspicions have become certainties. The duke and Orloff are leagued together for the hurt of the princess, and Russakoff is their intermediary. What is the 'risky business' that Russakoff deems ill-paid by a sum of four hundred roubles, sum to be doubled if the work be done within twelve hours? You are certain those were the words, Katina?"

"Quite certain, marshal."

"And the other man--who is he, I wonder?--was trying to persuade Russakoff to return to the city? Has he returned? If so, my spies shall find him ere the night be past. Trevisa," he continued, turning to the ex-secretary, "you see now the importance of that secret despatch, the necessity for its immediate decipherment. No more delay then. To Slavowitz," cried Zabern, rising abruptly.

Katina instantly flew off to summon the driver of the troika in which Paul and Trevisa had made their journey from Slavowitz. The three men proceeded to the entrance of the inn where they found the trooper Nikita, still holding the two horses, and seeming as if he had not moved an inch from his previous position. Night had fallen, and the stars were twinkling in a dark sky. The bright light from the inn-door streamed pleasantly across the road to the trees on the opposite side.

"Pardon my haste, gentlemen," observed Zabern, "but I should do wrong to tarry longer, when there may be rioting in the capital. The princess's conversion to Romanism and the arrest of the Duke of Bora are matters sufficient to set the Muscovite mind ablaze. I'll ride on ahead; do you follow with all speed."

Katina reappeared at this moment, and the marshal gallantly kissed her hand at parting. The glad light that came into her eyes told Paul a secret.

"As I live," he murmured to himself, "our pretty Katina loves Zabern."

The marshal swung himself into the saddle, and the next moment with his steel scabbard swinging beneath his cloak, he was galloping towards Slavowitz, accompanied by his faithful orderly Nikita.

A minute afterwards the three-horsed car appeared at the inn-door in charge of its istvostchik or driver.

"The troika is ready, my little fathers," he cried.

The two friends took their places in the vehicle, and scarcely had they done so, when there passed into the glow of light, and out again immediately, a man whose tall cylindrical hat and black cassock proclaimed him to be a papa or priest of the Oriental Church.

On perceiving this ecclesiastic the istvostchik made the sign of the cross in Greek fashion, at the same time quitting the troika and saying as he did so: "Pardon me, little fathers, but I dare not drive you to-night."

"What does he mean?" Paul in wonderment asked of Katina.

"The poor fellow is a Muscovite," she explained with a pitying smile, "and Muscovites deem it a bad omen to meet a priest of their own faith when setting out upon a journey."

Katina had spoken truly. All the inducements and bribes on the part of the two friends failed to shake the resolution of the old istvostchik.

"The Muscovites have a curious way of honoring their priesthood," smiled Paul.

"I have a troika," said Katina, "and since I have promised to fetch my sister Juliska home from Slavowitz to-night, why should you not accompany me thither?"

Paul and Trevisa saw no reason, whatever, why they should not accept the services of so fair a charioteer. Katina accordingly gave an order to one of the inn-servants, and then disappeared within the hostelry. She returned almost immediately, looking charming in a handsome mantle trimmed with fur. At the same moment there was brought round from the rear of the premises a second troika, which was certainly a much finer vehicle than the first. It was lined with red leather, and drawn by three spirited ponies.

"Here are steeds worthy of Mazeppa himself," said Katina, offering each a sweetmeat. "The Ukraine hath not their like."

She laid her cheek against the manes of all three in turn. The ponies tossed their heads and pawed the ground, evidently as proud of their young mistress as she was of them.

"This is Natalie, and that Stephanie," she continued indicating the two harnessed within the duga or wooden arch. "They are named after the princess and her mother."

"And the third?" inquired Paul.

"Oh! she is for show, and not for use; she prances merely without drawing, and so, being useless, my sister has, of course, called her Katina. Now if your excellencies are ready."

Paul and Trevisa seated themselves in the vehicle and since each declared that he must have Katina beside him, that maiden was laughingly compelled to take her place between them.

"Do not travel to-night, my little masters," said the istvostchik as he watched these preparations. "Ill-fortune will attend you."

Katina gave the reins a scornful shake.

Trevisa laughed pleasantly.

Paul looked grave; to his mind there was something strangely impressive in the quiet dignity of this old man as he stood on the steps of the inn-door, his cap doffed and his eyes raised to the star-lit sky.