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.