He did not move. Now that doubt and suspense were over, it was the turn of wrath. His cheeks slowly crimsoned, the thick gray brows drew together, and from beneath them flashed an awful fire.
“So!” he burst out; “these two political criminals are my own children!”
They did not speak.
His figure seemed to swell with wrathful majesty. “My own children!” he ejaculated. “The Czar had faith in me. He made me military governor of St. Petersburg because he thought that I, above all others, was the one to subdue the revolt in this the heart of Russia. And now, at the head of that revolt I find my own son, my own daughter! My own children the arch-traitors!”
“Not traitors, father,” said Sonya, “but patriots of a truer sort!”
“Traitors, I say! As for Vladimir there, I may not be surprised. But you, Sonya, you whom I loved and cherished and trusted, of whom I was so proud—to think that you could secretly join these vile enemies of our country!”
“Our country’s enemies!” Borodin repeated quietly, but with a quick flashing of his eyes. “Who are they? Those who are crushing it into darkness, or those who are striving to lift it into liberty and light?”
“Silence! Nothing from you!” cried the general. “It is you that led Sonya into this. You are the sole cause of our disgrace and shame!”
“Perhaps another generation will not call it shame.”
The quiet answer only roused the proud old autocrat the more.