“Yes, and I’ll dance on his grave—but I’ll not have my head wrapped up like an old woman doing a penance.”
“Very well, then we shall do nothing more, but wait till the Ataman comes. Then we can take the poison of honor.”
Katerin sat down by the table and threw the loops of the bandage from her.
Michael looked at her, and an expression of infinite tenderness and love came over his face. His lips quivered, and he struck several matches violently without getting a flame. He threw the last one to the floor, and held out his hands to her.
“Forgive me, Katerin Stephanovna—I did forget. But now I remember, and I see what you are striving to do. It is true, what you say, and we must play with this American. And if we take good care, it may all come out as you say—it will be a way out of our danger and our troubles. Come, please! Put on the rags, and I shall be the best old exile ever was seen, one who is fleeing from the wicked Governor—from Kirsakoff! Please! Again the bandage, and I’ll be good.”
“Ah, little father, there is another way to fight without using swords and guns. There is a way to gain your ends without your enemy’s suspecting that he is pushing your cart.”
She gave her attention to putting the bandage back.
“I grant the truth of what you say,” said Michael. “But what will Slipitsky say to this? He is a shrewd fox, and there is many a twist in a game of this sort that he knows—he has helped many a man to escape from me, for all his friendship for me in the old days. Never did I dream that we should have to resort to his cleverness—but the fox takes his wisdom where he finds it, and that is why we say that he is wise.”
“It does not matter what Slipitsky thinks of it. We cannot leave all the tricks to our enemies. And you must have faith in me, if I am to work this out so that good will come of it, and we get away from the soldiers of the Ataman.”
“I’ll trust you, my daughter. By the Saints! You should have been a man, Katerin Stephanovna!”