Katerin stepped to the table to draw hot water from the samovar, which was so placed that she stood almost between Peter and her father, though without preventing them from seeing each other. She did not trust to her precautions against Peter’s recognizing her father, knowing that there were elements in the situation which might bring on some mischance on the side of tragedy.
And Wassili acted according to his instructions. As Peter sat down, the moujik left Michael’s chair, and offered the guest a cigarette from a tin box, lighted a match—and remained behind Peter’s chair. Thus it appeared to Peter that he was being tendered the usual courtesies.
“It is true that times have changed, sir,” said Peter.
“Ay, they have, truly,” said Michael. “And some say for the better. Perhaps. But I’ll not live to see it all finished. I shall get no good from it. But we must remember those who have died dreaming dreams for the future.”
“True,” said Peter. “And this ground is full of such—we must remember them, and it is our duty to see that they did not sacrifice themselves for nothing.”
“My daughter tells me that you know our story—that I was a political here.”
“In the time of Kirsakoff, the Governor,” said Peter.
“Kirsakoff!” said Michael. “Ah, yes, I had good reason to know Kirsakoff. There are many waiting their chance to settle with him, and he has but a short time for this world. But one of the lessons we learned here, my friend, was to bide our time—and I am waiting.”
“And Kirsakoff is in with Zorogoff?”
“That Mongol dog!” said Michael. “Have you heard that he has visited upon my daughter and me the silent torture? And that even now we hide from him? Yes. Well, he has buried people to their necks by the dozen, and then sent horsemen galloping over the ground. But if God is good I shall live to see his head carried about on the end of a pole!”