“You are right!” agreed the general. “It has long been my guiding principle that severe action is the only check for revolution.”
“And instant action,” subtly suggested the prince.
“And instant!” repeated the general.
There was little need, however, for the suggestion to this old Vice-Czar, long accustomed to the relentless exercise of autocratic power. He had sent scores to instant death, without giving them trial, without seeing them, upon far slighter charges than those now laid before him. While in command against the South Russian revolt it had been his standing order that any person found with a pistol upon him should be straightway stood against a wall and shot. So now he did not hesitate.
He rang. “Tell my secretary to dress and come here,” he ordered the servant. Then he sat down at his desk, drew out two awesome documents and began to fill in the first. While the general’s head was down the prince did not try to hide his excitement; his eyes glittered, and his breath came tensely between his thin lips.
The general brushed the first aside, completed, and began the second. He paused and looked up.
“What was the woman’s name? Sonya something, was it not?”
“Sonya Varanova, Freeman said,” returned the prince’s even voice.
“Sonya Varanova,” the general repeated as he wrote in the name. A minute later he affixed his signature and his official seal and laid this warrant with the other.
“On the other cases I shall postpone action,” he said. “As for The White One, it might occasion some criticism even among our own friends to execute so old and crippled a woman.”