“Shall I go now to the American officer, master?” asked Wassili.
“Let me think on it,” said Michael. “They killed Ilya and they may also kill you. It is dangerous business and we must be cautious. If it is true that an American has come, then the Ataman will do one of two things—strike speedily or leave us in peace. I believe that he will destroy us. I wish my wits were equal to telling me what I should do.”
“We must not leave it to the Ataman,” declared Katerin. “The time has come for us to make our decisions—we it is who must act and not wait for the Ataman to make up his mind.”
“We! What do you mean, my daughter? What is it we can do?”
“Do something before the Ataman returns.”
“What? What is it we can do, surrounded as we are?”
There was a new look of determination in Katerin’s face. “The time has come to be bold,” she said. “If Zorogoff expects us to wait here for his will or his coming, we must surprise him—we must go straight to this American officer and ask him to help us to escape the city, even if he has not been sent to us by friends. But I’m sure we will find that he has been dispatched here to rescue us.”
Michael put his hands to his face and stared at Katerin, aghast at her suggestion. He turned and sat down in his chair as if he had no strength to remain standing longer. “What in the name of God are you saying?” he whispered. “Do you mean we should put ourselves at the mercy of the Ataman?”
“Are we not now at the mercy of the Ataman? Are we not waiting for his men to knock at the door? How much worse off will we be if we make an attempt to reach this American?”
“And how much better?” asked Michael. “Will it do us more good to be shot down by the sentries as was Ilya than to remain here waiting for some turn of fortune which will save us?”