Shimilin lifted his head and looked at the general in surprise.
“Beggars! I like a joke, Kirsakoff.”
“It is no joke being a beggar,” put in Katerin.
“You have millions of rubles,” said Shimilin.
“It is easy to count the money in the pockets of other people,” said Katerin. “We were robbed of all we had long before the Ataman Zorogoff began to rule.”
Shimilin’s face took on a sly look. “Is it that you do not like the Ataman Zorogoff? Are you opposed to his rule?”
“I suppose Zorogoff would give up his power if we said we preferred another ruler,” retorted Katerin. “If you came here to trick us into saying anything against Zorogoff, it will not be said. And it takes little of your breath to talk of millions of rubles. Does the Ataman expect us to hand over to him a fortune which does not exist?”
“You talk like all the others,” said Shimilin wearily. “Partridges are killed with silver bullets—and so are robbers. An army cannot live on air. The Ataman needs money.”
“Protection from bandits! What difference does it make whether bandits and looters take our money, or Zorogoff?” asked Michael sharply. “If we had the money—what would it matter to us who got it if we lost it?”
“The Ataman asks a loan,” said Shimilin. “His government will repay you. Am I to tell the Ataman that you regard him as a robber?”