“I am nobody,” she said. “I submit only to God and the saints of heaven. I do not recognize your right to rule, even though you take my life. Tell your brave soldiers to shoot.”
Zorogoff laughed harshly.
“You have the spirit of the devil, mistress.”
“Speak of the devil and we see his tail,” retorted Katerin, using an old Russian proverb.
“You are a brave woman,” repeated Zorogoff. “You have the blood of good ancestors—a fighting, ruling breed—as were mine.”
“My ancestors have never feared death.”
“Do you know that I am a prince in Mongolia?” asked Zorogoff tartly. He seemed nettled by Katerin’s way of looking at him, rather than by her scornful words.
“I do not doubt it, sir. And you belong there.”
“Ah! Is that true? Though your father is governor no longer, you still tell people where they belong. My people ruled this land before your people came, and once more we shall rule. But if you will give up your money to the government, in time you shall have it back. My soldiers need food and clothing. What is your answer, mistress?”
A tremor of cold shook Katerin’s body. The air was stifling her, and she was chilled till she no longer felt pain.