Maria Stefanowna had sat there unmoved; her foot tapping rapidly on the ground was the only sign of impatience she gave.
“Monsieur, remember,” she said quietly, “that if you pull that bell your young master will be dead before another night has passed over his head.”
The old Russian understood. What a fool he was! The woman spoke truly. What could he do but wait patiently, meekly, to hear the manifesto of these wretches who held the dagger against a Tsarevitch’s heart?
Later, perhaps, revenge might come, but now they must negotiate, treat with them, however galling it might be.
“You are right, madame! No doubt you and your companions know how completely we are in your power, or they would never have dared to send you to me.”
Then with a violent effort at self-control he added—
“I will listen to what you have to say.”
Maria Stefanowna gave a sigh of satisfaction. She had gained his undivided attention, as well as his confession of the power she held in her hand. The plan she had formed in her mind needed now but propounding; she was sure at least of undivided hearing.
“Monsieur,” she said, “although I own that the prisoner we hold in our power is one whose safety and liberty are of vast importance to—shall we say?—one section of the Russian Empire, at the same time, perhaps, it has never struck you that he, in the person of his adherents and officials, holds captive many a one whose life and liberty are also of infinite value. Have you ever heard the name of Dunajewski mentioned before now?”
The old courtier knew it well, the ardent, unforgiving Nihilist, whose capture, together with a score of his comrades, a month ago, had been the triumph of the Third Section. He guessed now what this woman’s object was in coming to him. An interchange of prisoners it was to be. Great heavens! What mattered it if the world was populated with thousands of liberated convicts, as long as that one precious life was safe?