Michel looked pityingly at her, as he tried to reassure her by saying the examination would be a mere formality and she had nothing to dread. He did not stay long after this, but before he went he told us his mother was soon going to Monte Carlo, and would take Zaidee with her. “She is very fond of Monte Carlo, and very successful, as a rule—or Zaidee is. I am told she frequently tells my mother where to put her money, and mother listens to her as she never listens to anyone else. You did a good thing when you gave your hat to that girl! She has it yet, and wears it sometimes, I believe; at least, I occasionally see her with a most wonderful headgear.”
After he was gone Katy began to cry. She dreaded the ordeal that lay before her, should we be questioned with regard to our acquaintance with Ivan. Jack rather anticipated it.
“All you have to do is to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” he said, adding, with a boy’s bravado, “but I shall do more. I shall tell ’em what I think of ’em. I’ve wanted a chance at ’em.”
The next day he had his chance, and we were questioned separately and individually with regard to our connection with the Scholaskies, and, as each told the same story, without any variation, we were believed, and not molested as partisans. I heard that Jack called the officials fools, and said some very uncomplimentary things of the Russian Government, and when the officers laughed, and called him a silly boy to fall in love with a man, he called them liars, and, when one of them threatened him for contempt, he told them to do their worst, if they wanted his father about their ears, with the U. S. A. and a war ship and the President, and a lot more.
M. Seguin was present, acting as interpreter, and softening a good deal that Jack said, but the officers knew he was a reckless boy, and were more amused than angry. Poor little Katy was white as a sheet at first, but, gathering courage as the examination proceeded, told what she knew in a straightforward way, and then, with streaming eyes, pleaded for Ivan, that his punishment might be of the mildest form. She was not taunted with being in love, as Jack had been, but was treated with a kindness and deference one would hardly expect from those grim Russians. Try as we might, we could hear nothing definite of Ivan, until Zaidee brought us the news that he was to go to Siberia for three or four years, and his mother would follow him as soon as she was able.
“I’d go, too, and see to ’em, if I didn’t have to look after old Madame Seguin, and keep her from drinking too much,” she said, with a queer grimace. “She is very fond of wine, and would get as drunk as a fool if I did not stop her. I touch her arm, and she knows what I mean. That’s why I stand behind her, and, when I think she has had enough, I go for her. At Monte Carlo she gets so excited that she don’t know anything, and I have to tell her to put up the money she has won, and when to put it down. She’s a queer one.”
For Michel she had only words of praise. “A splendid man that! No one need be afraid of him, except they are bad,” she said, forgetting the time when, a poor street waif, she used to run at the sight of him.
We tried to see Ivan, but that was impossible. We could only send him a message and a good-by through Michel Seguin, who promised to do for him all he consistently could do.
“Perhaps he may write to you,” he said, looking at Katy, who had been like a wilted flower ever since the arrest, caring for nothing, except to leave the city as soon as possible. She went once alone to call on Madame Scholaskie, and when she returned she seemed much happier. Madame had promised to write, if Ivan could not, and sundry messages, I was sure, were given to his mother for him.
Two days later we left St. Petersburg, with only M. Seguin at the station to say good-by. He was there officially, and was looking tired and worn, I thought, and sorry that we were leaving. As I stood by him for a moment, when no one was near, I said: “Do you think Nicol Patoff is in Siberia?”