The Golden Bough

CHAPTER X

FLIGHT

Monsieur Khodrine drove steadily into the gray light of the new day, satisfied with the events of the night which had resulted quite miraculously to his advantage, for the suit-case containing the bank notes of Nemi was safe upon the floor of the tonneau and the Princess Tatyana, still clad in her dark robe, sat in the seat beside him, completely at his orders. The escape of Picard had annoyed him, for he had intended taking the man far into the interior of Germany and there turning him over to the authorities as an alien enemy and a prisoner. But in the present turn of affairs it was possible that the counselors of Nemi might be put upon his own tracks and the pig of a Yankee liberated from the vault. He had been imprudent when in the first flush of his success he had told Tanya of their destination, but the chances of Picard getting back safely were not great, and he knew nothing of value.

The way in which the American Rowland had hidden his hand and almost defeated Monsieur Khodkine's projects showed how easily one could be mistaken in appearances and the feeling of comfort that had followed the imprisonment of the Yankee intruder in the vault was now slowly giving way to a vague inquietude. For the arm of Nemi, as Khodkine himself had said, was long and if Max Liederman blew open the door of the vault before the air for Rowland's cursed lungs was exhausted, Khodkine would have the whole pack of them yelping at his heels before he could take himself and the money to cover.

It was gratifying to him to turn his head and see the handsome angry profile of the Princess Tatyana there just beside him, but in spite of the way in which fortune had played into his hands and the ease with which her abduction had been accomplished, there were many thoughts that bothered him and her uncompromising attitude of enmity made him aware that he must play his game with a gentle hand. He had held her, heretofore, by the threat which he had hung over her, – a painful business at best, since she was quite the most desirable woman he had ever known. But the pig Rowland had startled him by revealing a knowledge of his nationality, his correct name, regiment and employment. For if Rowland knew who he was, from whom had he received the information? Not from Zoya Rochal, for that lady, clever as she was, could have had no possible means of learning the truth. Not from Liederman nor Barthou nor Shestov, for he had covered his trail far too cleverly. He was not so sure that Kirylo Ivanitch had not discovered something-Kirylo! Had Tatyana gotten something from the dead priest and told what she had learned to Rowland?

And so, driving silently, Monsieur Khodkine tried to think out a solution of his problems, mindful of the girl at his side, who sat rigidly in resolute silence, deaf or oblivious to the small attentions which he offered her. But as the day had now broken and the roads had suddenly seemed to fill with people, some of whom stared at the dark, cowled figure, he turned to her with a smile.

"They think, Princess Samarov," he said, "that I'm eloping with a nun."

She made no reply.

"If it pleases you, Princess Samarov, we will descend at Tuttlingen."

She understood the meaning of the repetition of her name, but gave no sign that she was aware of it.

"Of course, Gregory Khodkine," she replied coldly, "I must do as you wish."

"Ah, my dear Tatyana," he urged, "do not say that. Rather tell me that you wish it also."

"I wish for nothing but my freedom."

He smiled at her pleasantly.

"How like a woman," he said, "to desire the one thing not in my power to grant. I cannot let you go. And if I did, here in Germany, your position would be precarious." He drove on in a moment of silence and then spoke more soberly. "Come. Be reasonable. Through no fault of my own we are enemies. It is very painful to me to feel that you are not in sympathy with my aims for Russia, but the very fact that I am right and you are wrong, makes me more generous toward you."

"Generous! Is this generosity-?"

"One moment, Princess Tatyana," he broke in as she paused. "You cannot forget, nor can I, that no matter what has passed between us, you had no right to condemn me unheard for what happened in Moscow. Prince Samaroff brought his fate upon himself. Nor had you the right to confide, without the consent of the Council of Nemi, in this absurd adventurer from America, to set him against the established authority, furnish him with the combination of the door which protected the money of the society that he might loot the vault for his own uses-"

"That is a lie," she muttered tensely.

He shrugged.

"The evidence is all against him-and you, Princess Samarov," he added quietly.

She faced him and in the abrupt action the cowl fell over her shoulders, disclosing her disordered hair.

"You dare not look me in the eyes and say that I would steal money given in a holy cause. You dare not!" she murmured bravely.

He drove on stolidly for a moment and then a smile came on his thin lips.

"Much as I would like to look in your eyes, Princess, it is now impossible, since I would surely run into a market-cart. It is difficult furthermore," he said coolly, "because to look into your eyes is dangerous to my peace of mind-"

"Tch! – " The accent of scorn in her voice was very genuine, as she twisted away from him. "You honor me, Gregory Khodkine," she finished.

"I would honor you more, Tatyana Samarov-the highest honor in the privilege of any man to bestow," he said quietly. "I ask you to be my wife."

She was startled and turned toward him, wide-eyed.

"You! – after what you have done to me and mine-!"

"I beseech you to listen to me. Your father, Prince Samarov, was the enemy of Russia's freedom-'

"Because he believed in order," she broke in wildly, "instead of anarchy-"

"Because he was reactionary-" he paused with some show of delicacy, "because he was a traitor to the very causes you represent."

"That is not true. His cause is mine-the integrity of Russia as well as her freedom."

Khodkine smiled lightly.

"The old order passeth, Princess, and with it those who are not awake to the new issues."

"And what is the new order of things?" She returned with spirit. "A carefully planned disorder that Germany may triumph, a chase of will-o'-the-wisps through a mist of illusions. You speak of treachery; You-!" She stifled the scorn of her tongue with an effort, for the thought of the papers in her bodice warned her that she was coming to dangerous ground.

"You are trying to do me injustice, Princess," he said quietly, "but your very words fail you for lack of proof. That it was through my agency that Prince Samarov was thrown into prison is indeed a proof of my loyalty-for did I not know that in condemning him-" Khodkine's voice sank a note as he finished slowly, "that in condemning him I was losing my own heart's desire-the one woman in the world that I have ever loved-or can."

She glanced at him quickly but anger dominated.

"He was innocent of any connection with the Camarilla of Rasputin," she said in a tense voice. "He despised trickery-and you knew it."

"That will doubtless be proved, Princess Tatyana, and it may be that I can help," he said suavely. "Indeed I am not without influence with the Council of Workmen's and Soldiers' Deputies."

"And why should you not be-you who are-!"

Again she paused, her hand below her cassock fingering the dossier of Gregory Hochwald.

"I am-what, Tatyana?" he asked keenly.

She shrugged and looked away.

"The apostle of-of license!" she said chokingly.

The promptness of her reply reassured him. She believed in the Provisional Government and the dangers that now beset it were very real to her.

He smiled and turned to her softly.

"Aren't your mission and mine the same, after all? We desire a Russia free-not alone from medievalism but from the traitors within her borders who have stolen the food from her soldiers, profited upon munitions which never reached those who upheld the honor of Russia at the front-the capitalists and those they put in power. I need not go on. You know their names and places-vipers that any true Russian of the nobility or of the people should pledge his life to crush. You too, Tatyana-you are their enemy as I am. Will you deny it?"

Tanya had listened in silence, amazed at the fervor of his denunciation and at his plausibility. Had she not held close against her body the proofs of his perfidy, had she not known the secrets of his Russian intrigue, his clever tongue might have persuaded her. As it was, having in her misery already planned a course of action, she merely answered evasively. Gregory Khodkine should be no more clever than she. At the present moment she seemed to be completely in his power, and until a proper opportunity presented, she must meet him at his own game. This was not the first time he had declared his love for her. There had been other moments in Petrograd and at Nemi when Gregory Khodkine had chosen to dignify her with his attentions, but beneath his suave demonstrations of affection, she had always been sure of his venality and felt the threat of a danger. Her father at this moment lay in a cell in the Prison of St. Peter and St. Paul, a prisoner through this man's agency, and of those others who had sworn falsely. She had blamed Gregory Khodkine, because she had guessed that the currents which actuated him had their source among the high places. Now she knew what and where, for the proof was in her possession, and that knowledge made her fear and hate him the more.

The disaster to Monsieur Rowland had stricken her helpless, the death of Stepan had terrified her, but she had managed to gather her wits together in time to feign illness and write the note to Shestov which Picard had taken. All her hopes lay in Picard. Would he reach Nemi in safety and if so would he be in time to save Monsieur Rowland from a frightful death? Monsieur Rowland was a brave man. There was a quality of carelessness in his courage and ingenuity that had made her throw herself impulsively into his confidences and upon his protection. It was incredible that this fine young life should be snuffed out… She would not believe it! And Monsieur Khodkine, Rowland's enemy, Stepan's slayer, sat beside her, driving into the sunshine of the dewy morning, alive, awake, persistent and successful, a portent of the triumph of the dark forces which were spreading their evil snares all about the world. She stole a quick sidelong glance at him and marked the handsome, finely-cut profile. He was good to look at-but cold-so ruthless and so cold! And it was this man who a moment ago had asked her to marry him! There had seemed something more ominous to her in the carefully chosen words of his declaration than there would have been in the rugged orders of an honest jailor. And yet there was too something in the quietness of his manner and in the air of submissiveness with which he had accepted her rebuff which reassured her. Could it be, after all, that under this impassive exterior there was a soul that could be touched, a chord of memory, an ideal to be invoked, in which during moments not given to the soulless pursuit of a mad nation's ambitions, she, Tanya, could have a part? Once or twice she had believed him genuine, for in his pale blue eyes had come a look that had been born of a real emotion, and then something had happened-a quick return of his imperiousness or suspicion, which had driven from her mind all thoughts except that this was the man who held the fate of Prince Samarov in the hollow of his hand. But what if…

She glanced at him again. His position was unchanged, his expression unmoved, sober, determined but not unpleasant, and for the present he seemed to have forgotten her existence. Love? To such a man-it was a thing apart, a trifle, an incident upon the highway of his life and yet-what if she could find it-use it?

There was a weapon here for her woman's fingers to grasp and wield. He had offered it to her. Was that too a part of the tissue of falsehoods he had woven about his life or was it a tangible thing that would cut and rend as a woman's weapons should? There was nothing left for her but to choose. Timidly, but firmly she caught at it.

"Grisha Khodkine," she said with a smile that belied the fear in her heart, "perhaps you are right. I am only a woman. I have thought deeply and sorrowed deeply for Russia, but that is a woman's weakness for her heart leads her always. As to my father-"

She paused and looked over the blue valley which led down to Lake Constance.

"He need not worry you," he broke in. "Before leaving Petrograd, I assured myself that he lacked nothing. He is comfortable, well-fed and in no danger. If you will trust in me, it will not be long before all your clouds are rolled away."

"I-I do not believe you, Grisha Khodkine," she murmured. "One does not change one's thoughts at the first wind that blows. You are catering to a maddened people drunk with liberty. That is dangerous and bodes no good to my country-and-and yours."

"And yet the Council of Workmen's and Soldiers' Deputies is to rule all Russia. You shall see. Out of chaos, cosmos shall come, a government 'of the people, for the people, by the people.'"