“But I am no longer a Russian; I am an American citizen.”
“Adoption does not free a man from his mother’s call. Your long exemption only adds to your obligation.”
The Professor moved uneasily in his chair. Fear was growing on him, but he tried to shake it off. “I am not in sympathy with the present aims of the Brotherhood,” he protested. “I have lived too long in the outer world. No cause was ever helped by murder. Besides, Russia is not fitted for self-government.”
Maxime shrugged his shoulders. “We will not discuss it,” he declared. “The Brotherhood calls you. Will you obey, or must I first remind you of what it did for you twenty years ago, just before you fled secretly by night from the palace of the Grand Duke in St. Petersburg, bearing in your arms——”
“Stop! Stop!”
But the man went on pitilessly. “Twenty years ago,” he said, as one repeating a lesson, “you were known by the name of Lladislas Metrovitch. You were a subordinate member of the Brotherhood, and rendered it good though not material service. You were married twice, the second time to an American lady who had been the governess of your nieces. You had one child by her. You were well known for your scientific attainments. One day you were arrested, charged with sedition. You disappeared. Your property was confiscated, your household scattered.
“Three years went by, during which you rotted in the dungeons of the fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul. Then, by the aid of the Brotherhood, you escaped—old before your time, broken, feeble. You sought for your wife, your family. You could learn little of them. At last you heard that your wife was dead, and that her child and yours was being brought up in the household of the Grand Duke Ivan. You did not dare to claim the child openly, but, aided by the Brotherhood, you stole her and escaped with her to America.”
The Professor raised his head. His shoulders shook. The forgotten horror of those by-gone days had all come back as if it had been but yesterday. He was about to speak when the man interposed.
“I have more to tell,” he said. “When you fled from Russia you thought your wife was dead. You were deceived. She did not die until about a year ago.”
“Not dead! Not dead!” The Professor’s face flushed red, then changed to a ghastly pallor. “Not dead!” he muttered.