The old lady’s eyes filled with tears.
“I belong to the Past. All my memories are there. I dare not look forward to the future—My poor Russia!”
“Our poor Russia!” echoed her husband. “In the hands of those who are murdering the very souls of our people by their evil propaganda.”
Nadia spoke again, very gently, to avoid any hurt to her father and mother.
“The soul of our people will never die. It is a great, simple, and generous soul, as I know now by working among the peasants. Presently this régime will change. It is already changing. It will become moderate. Russia will get new liberties. There will be a greater happiness than before.”
Suvaroff shook his head.
“Russia is famine-stricken and diseased. For the sins of those who rule us, and for our own sins in the past, we shall perish as a civilisation.”
“Never!” said Nadia, bravely. “Russia will live with greater glory, more enlightened, with a people worthy of great liberties. It is my faith. Without that I should die.”
There was a moment’s silence, as heavy footsteps strode down the stone corridor, and suddenly the curtain was drawn back. A young man stood there, in the uniform of the Red Army.
For a second or two Bertram was startled and afraid. There flashed into his mind the thought that perhaps his visit here had led to trouble for this little family of the old régime. He was relieved when the old lady smiled and said: