She did not answer me, only her eyes grew larger and brighter and more defiant.
“Have you seen him?” was my next question.
“Yes, at some of our meetings; he speaks, and we believe all he says. He has a wonderful way with him. You ought to hear him. He’d make you believe your black gown was white. That’s why they are afraid of him and want to get him again.”
“Zaidee,” I said, “what do they want—the nihilists, the agitators?”
“A different government,” she answered, promptly. “One more like yours, and the English. One in which we have a voice. We have no wish to shed blood, nor harm the czar—the weak, timid man, ruled by the grand dukes. We want some rights to make us free and intelligent and educated, like the poor in your country. Instead of that, we are almost as much slaves as we were before the emancipation. You ought to see the poverty and misery on the farms in the country. We are held down with an iron hand; but it must open—it will open—and Russia be free!”
She was very eloquent, and showed the effect of the meetings she had attended, and where Ivan probably charmed the people with his eloquence.
“Where do you meet?” I asked.
She was silent a moment. Then she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
“I must tell you,” she said. “It is too good to keep. Every one of monsieur’s servants believes as I do, and we met once in madame’s drawing room, when monsieur was in Moscow, and there was nothing to be feared from him. I think it was too bad, and wonder madame did not appear to us, she hated us so. The room was packed, and Ivan spoke, and such a speech! But he advised us never to meet there again. We should respect the dead, he said, and it was a wrong to Monsieur Seguin. I think we are ashamed of it, but it seemed a big joke at the time. We shut Chance in his kennel, so he wouldn’t see any of them, and recognize them again, especially Ivan.”
“When was this?” I asked, with some sternness in my tone.