“But I shall go with my father,” insisted Katerin, doing her best to conceal the agony which possessed her. She knew that if her father were taken she might never see him again. “Please! I shall go with my father! Surely, there can be nothing against my going.”
“Have no fear,” said Shimilin. “Zorogoff wishes to talk with your father, that is all. No harm will come to him. And I shall see that no harm comes to you here while we wait. It will be better for you, and easier for your father if you do not make any trouble about it. You will only have to submit in the end.”
“I shall go,” said Michael, rising unsteadily to his feet. “I have no wish to oppose the Ataman if he desires to talk with me. Come, my daughter—fetch me my coat and my cap. The sooner this is over, the sooner we shall know what the Ataman expects of me.”
Katerin hesitated, scanning the face of Shimilin as if hunting out some secret motive behind the taking of her father from her. Then with sudden resolution she went and brought her father’s cap and coat from his room, and put them on him with loving care. When she had pulled the fur cap down about the old general’s ears, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him, her heart torn with anguish at the parting, but determined not to give way to her fears and doubts before him.
“God go with you and may you return to me soon,” she said. “And do not worry for me, my father.” She smiled at him.
“And God be with you, Katerin Stephanovna, the brave one,” said Michael. Then turning to Shimilin, he said, “I am ready to obey your commands and I submit myself to your soldiers.”
“Take Michael Kirsakoff to the Ataman,” said Shimilin to his men, and they fell in on each side of Michael. Between the two, Michael marched across the room, doing his best to keep his weak old legs from betraying the unsteadiness of his age. At the door he crossed himself twice, and turning back, said to Katerin, “Hope is mightier than fear—remember that you are the daughter of a soldier and that we do not fear death, but only the loss of honor. Think not of me, but of yourself, and God’s blessing and mercy upon you.”
He turned and was gone, leaving Katerin standing with folded arms staring at the open door through which he had passed. Her face was white, her lips drawn tightly together. She remained thus, listening to the footfalls of her father and of the soldiers going down the stairs. When she could hear them no more, Wassili came up and peered in at the door, his eyes full of terror, and by his look silently questioning the truth of the scene he had just witnessed below.
“See that the doors are properly closed, Wassili,” said Katerin, and the moujik went below again. She walked to a bench and sat down facing the stove, partly turned away from Shimilin who stood in the center of the room. She ignored his presence, but sat watching the flames dancing inside the stove behind the iron door, her hands gripped together in her lap.
Shimilin walked to the window and smoothed away the frost to look into the courtyard and the street. Soon he turned from the window and looked at Katerin.