“I suppose it will be no longer safe to meet here after to-day,” said a man, whom I heard addressed as Ivan Vassoffskoy, but whom I would not have recognized as the man whom I had seen with Sergius on that never-to-be-forgotten night of adventure.
“I do not think it was safe to meet here to-day,” said another, who had just arrived. “Just as I entered the passage leading round to our secret entrance I fancied that a man brushed past me, and I feel rather alarmed.”
“One of ours,” remarked Sergius.
“I think not,” was the reply, which seemed to imbue all the company with a sense of insecurity. “I challenged him in our usual way, but received no answer, as must have been the case if he had been one of us.”
“Then why did you come in if you fancied yourself followed?”
“Because I concluded that the ‘house’ was already suspected. I did retrace my steps for a few yards, but did not succeed in drawing the man away from the vicinity of the passage. This being the case, I thought it better to come in, after all, in order to warn you. It is quite possible that the passage is guarded already, and that everybody emerging from it will be arrested.”
“You did well, brother,” was the verdict of a tall, imposing man who had hitherto said little. “I had already begun to doubt the wisdom of meeting here much oftener, but was anxious to await the great event before altering our plans. As you all know, that event has taken place, and, by the terms of our oath, we are no longer a Society, although the consummation aimed at has been not our work, but the work of our brave St. Petersburg contingent. I proclaim us morally and patriotically disbanded, and absolved from all further duty or allegiance to the rules of our Brotherhood. If, in the future, it becomes necessary to give the government another severe lesson, you all know how to communicate with me, if I am still alive and in freedom, and you all know that my sole aim in life is to avenge the wrongs of the people. Before the setting of another sun some of us will be on our way to other lands, to seek that safety and freedom of speech which is denied us here. Some of us may have fallen into the hands of the tyrants, and have no longer a hope left. Others, confident that nobody suspects their connection with us, will continue to live in and about Moscow in comparative security, pursuing a life of honest toil, and always ready to afford an asylum to a patriot. But, whatever be the fate in store for us, we have nothing to reproach ourselves with, unless it be that our fight for God and our right has not been drastic enough.”
All the details of this conversation were fully explained to me by Sergius some days later, when it was no longer dangerous to speak even in whispers, as was the case while we were flying toward the frontier. But although I had not understood all that was said, I had gathered enough to know that our situation was already one of extreme peril, and I own that I felt terribly alarmed. I was also angry with myself for my husband’s sake, for I was sure that my presence could not fail to hamper his escape from Moscow. But I was not a little surprised to see how stoically all these dangerous conspirators received the news that their arrival had been watched, and that their exit was probably cut off by an outraged government at whose hands they would find little mercy.
This seeming mystery was, however, soon explained. There were, on the upper landing, and partly within the four rooms whose doors opened on to this landing, over twenty people present, none of whom appeared in the cloaks and dominos which had imparted such an awful solemnity to their meeting when I was taken captive by them. This, Sergius told me afterward, was because they knew that the catastrophe at St. Petersburg had virtually disbanded them.
“Take off your shoes, Dora,” whispered Sergius. “And don’t be alarmed, darling. Our danger is not nearly so imminent as you seem to fear. We have long expected this crisis, and have not allowed ourselves to be trapped like rats in a hole.”