“I scarcely think it would be worth your while to refuse,” he remarked.
“For myself, I care nothing. I am tired of being your puppet.”
“You love Paul Denissoff; surely you will save him from Siberia?”
She hesitated. She saw that to avoid Paul’s arrest she would be compelled to sacrifice all the members of the committee to whom the elaborate plot against the autocrat Alexander had been entrusted. She shuddered at the thought of the scandal it would create were she arraigned before a court-martial for conspiracy against the Tzar, and thought of the dreary, lifelong exile that would inevitably follow. In her bewilderment she resolved to secure Paul’s freedom at any cost.
“So this is but another illustration of your Satanic cunning,” she said at last, with knit brows. “I—I suppose it is imperative that I should betray my friends;” and she sighed heavily.
“Ah! I thought you would not care to bear the consequences of refusal,” he exclaimed, smiling at her perplexity.
“You laugh!” she cried, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is true that you hold my destiny in your hands, but take care you do not provoke me to desperation.”
“Threats do not become you, madame,” he replied coolly. “Tell me, where shall I find these conspirators?”
She paused. She was thinking how she could save her friends.
“You know the Bolshaia Ssattovaia?” she said suddenly. “Well, almost exactly opposite the Commercial Bank there is a small leather-shop, with a large kitchen below. Go there to-morrow night at ten o’clock.”