Peter thought that was enough for him to say about Zorogoff. He did not care to commit himself on the subject of the Ataman—did not wish to betray any antagonism toward the Mongol ruler. The Ataman was a man to be wary about, and Peter had no intention of taking this girl into his confidence as to where he might stand in any matter which involved Zorogoff.
Katerin suddenly clenched her hands. “Do the Americans think they can help us if they remain in Vladivostok?” she demanded with passion. Then she lapsed back into her easy manner as suddenly as she had blurted out her feelings, and turned as if she would go.
“Please wait!” he commanded. “This is something that it would be well for me to know.” Then dropping his voice as she paused and looked back at him over her shoulder, he went on, “You mean that the people are oppressed by the Ataman Zorogoff?”
She returned and stood before the samovar, as if settling in her mind what her answer should be.
“I think I had better not talk about the Ataman,” she said finally. “He is not a safe subject for discussion by a poor and helpless samovar girl.”
“Tell me,” he urged, bending forward and speaking confidentially, “are you in danger from the Ataman?”
She gave him that quick look again, as if she were not quite sure that he could be trusted. “It is better for me not to talk of the Ataman—but I am a samovar girl here for my own safety—till some one comes for me—and my father.”
Once more he understood that he was to get some meaning from her words. He noticed that a sudden change had come over her—there was a softer look in her eyes, as if she had abandoned all thought of using any artifice with him and was on the verge of giving him her confidence. Her eyes seemed to burn with a kindlier light for him.
Peter was right about Katerin. She was at that time strongly tempted to tell him who she was. She watched him with a quivering expectancy, waiting for him to whisper to her that he was the man who had been sent by her friends to find her and Michael Kirsakoff. But when he said nothing and observed her without any sign that he had comprehended her meaning in words or looks, she felt a fear that perhaps she had gone too far in her attempts to enlighten him as to her identity.
“Do you live here—in Chita?” he asked. It was in his mind that this was a good time to test her as to whether she might have any knowledge of Kirsakoff. He realized that if she had her home in Chita, she was of the class who would know the former Governor.