“He wishes to do more now, Madame Drakona; and take you and Volna away from the city until these troubles have blown over,” said Ladislas.
An expression of perplexity clouded her face and she glanced doubtfully and nervously toward the other two. “I don’t think I understand,” she said, weakly. “I should like to go, but——” she stopped, and it struck me she was looking for Katinka’s sanction.
“These things are to be settled without regard to what we Drakonas think,” said Katinka. “Of course I regard it as indecorous, impracticable, unnecessary and cowardly. But my opinion is not even asked;” and she folded her hands and tapped her foot and assumed the air of an injured martyr.
“It is not my suggestion, madame, but that of my friend, Ladislas here,” I said to the old lady.
“I am sure I don’t know what to do. I wish Volna were here. Could we go?” she replied; and then a long and at times bitter discussion followed in which I took no part. The dear old soul was swayed first one way by Ladislas and then another by Katinka. Paul’s part was chiefly that of echo to his sister, who, I noticed, first settled things for herself and then put the responsibility upon him; and held up his opinion as final and decisive.
How long the discussion would have lasted and how many bitter insinuations Katinka would have thrown out about me it is impossible to say; but the end came in a fashion that was both dramatic and startling.
Paul was called away to the telephone and when he returned to the room he was ashen pale and intensely agitated.
“There has been a massacre at Petersburg. The troops have fired on the people and thousands have been killed.”
A dead silence fell on us all, broken only by a groan of anguish from Ladislas. We looked at one another in silent horror as the realization of what it might mean to all in Warsaw began to force itself upon us.
Even Katinka was awe-stricken and aghast.