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in all the rooms, all the people present carefuly searched, ladies as well as men, their names and addresses taken and nobody allowed to move before they had done and had searched the whole flat. I hear various things are missing from the house since that search-some valuable ones among them. They kept us till five in the morning. Of course we could put up with an unpleasant incident-it's not the first time-but then came the worst. They took Vladimir to police headquarters, having found a revolver in his pocket and some manifestoes issued by revolutionary committees. We thought they would release him after a while, but probably the secret police had some information about him -reports from detectives of courseand the next morning, when I came to inquire I was told he was being transferred to the prison for preliminary detention."

"Oh dear!" moaned Marya Petrovna, "when will he be out of prison? But they cannot keep him long since he has not taken part in the active work, can they?"

"Has not taken part in the active work? What do you mean?" asked Boris, evidently surprised. But he abstained from further tions.

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"Well, of course," he said, "you need not worry. It will turn out all right. But now, my dear Marya Petrovna," he added, "be an angel and let me have some tea. I have not had breakfast yet, I was in such a hurry. I was afraid you would have gone out already."

"Oh, I am sorry. I will go and get you something to eat at once."

Boris waited till she was gone, and approached Vera.

"Do you know that your mother is quite mistaken about Vladimir," he asked in a low voice.

"I know," she answered, and her

heart fell. She knew distressing news would follow.

"The arrest at the Andreyeffs was of course an accident. If only they don't find out! But of course they won't!" added Boris, with a confident toss of the head. "Now there is more I have to say to you. How far are you initiated?" he asked in a businesslike tone.

"I know only what is necessary for immediate purposes. That was what we agreed, Vladimir and I. Just now I don't know any facts-I only guess." "But you must know that Vladimir is on the C.C. (Central Committee)?" "I didn't."

The C.C.

Vera was overwhelmed. was a powerful revolutionary body the one that had organized the strikes and mutinies all over the country. The names of the members were kept in great secrecy, but it was pretty well known that they belonged to all classes and that even in fashionable society you may unwittingly meet a member of the C.C. Their work was important but their responsibility was frightful in every respect and Vera could not help being alarmed by Boris's news.

"Now you must know about it," proceeded Boris in the same serious matter-of-fact tone. "He was 'on duty' and had to do what he was expected to. We need your help."

"I don't belong to the party."

"That's exactly why you can be useful now. We want an outsider-a member of Vladimir's family. Listen. A very important strike is being arranged. The men of the Platonoff's cotton mill are ready to move-it has been all Vladimir's doing. But it is not only a strike, giving up work until their demands are granted. They are determined to fight, if they are turned out, to take hold of the works and to show how they themselves would manage it. If only they could hold their ground for a few days be

fore being dispersed by military force, it would be an unheard-of victory. Its moral effect would be greater than the naval republic on the 'Potemkin.' They would give an object-lesson of sense and fair labor to the capitalistic world."

Boris was carried away by his enthusiasm, and Vera had to bring him back to realities.

"The men are ready," he continued, "but they must be provided with arms. Vladimir has succeeded in securing a cargo of guns from Finland-and now he has to decide whether the right moment has come, whether the strike can begin, how this supply of arms can be got hold of. We must be careful of spies for traitors are everywhereVladimir is the only man who has all the strings in his hands. The workmen know only their individual rôles-and without his orders nothing can be done."

"Then you must postpone the strike till he is released."

"That is out of the question. The plot is ripe and must be carried out now, or it will go to pieces."

"I don't see what else could be done."

"Vladimir must be at the head and give the necessary directions."

"From his prison?"

"Exactly. And there comes in your part. You will obtain a pass to visit him and he will send us messages through you."

"But how?" Vera began to feel very nervous. This stubborn youth had no consideration for possibilities. "You know, even better than I do," she said in a slightly irritated tone, "that they don't allow one to talk to the prisoners about anything except family interests."

"Talk about family interests-that will do just as well as anything. Consult Vladimir about-let us say-a marriage that is going to be arranged.

He will know at once. I leave it to you to invent any story you like. But remember what we want to know: whether the plot is to be carried out, whether the guns have arrived, and who is entrusted to deliver them to the strikers. And another thing that is very important-he must write a manifesto to the strikers and let us have it."

"You don't mean he could do that in the prison?"

"He will. Act on these directions. And now hush! There is Marya Petrovna coming back."

Vera had not time to utter any objections. Her mother came to call Boris to the dining room for his breakfast and very soon after that he left. Before going he asked Vera to come next evening to the "Russian Theatre." He would like her to see the new play they were producing there. Vera understood that this was a business appointment. She was to deliver there Vladimir's answer, as Boris probably did not consider it safe to call too often at their house. She said she would come, but was quite at a loss how to carry out the plan entrusted to her.

And then there was something else, something else even more important she had wanted to ask Boris. It was in her mind the whole time, but she had not had the strength to utter her question. And besides, Boris might not know anything about it. Soldiers know but part of their leader's secrets, just what concerns them and their work.

Vera and her mother had to go first to the headquarters of the gendarmes. It was a long way from the place where they lived-an hour's drive. And it proved altogether useless to go there. They were politely turned out. "The régime has changed," explained the officer on duty with a malicious smile. "Political offenders are no longer under our care. The constitu

tional government hands them to the law courts. They are all to be tried according to the law. Allow me to hope that in your case it may be more satisfactory than the administrative rule. Sometimes it is not."

They went away with a heavy heart -law suits are apt to drag. Poor Volodya! Without losing time they betook themselves to the law court and were shown into the office of the investigating magistrate.

The waiting-room was full of people one would not have expected to meet there. Hardly any ordinary petitioners-nearly all were well-known journalists, writers, editors. Vera met with an acquaintance-a young man with a keen, intellectual face. He looked very much amused.

"What are you doing here?" asked Vera. "I should not have connected you with law suits. Have you been left money?"

"I don't look like it, do I?" answered the young man, pointing to his rather shabby attire. "But you forget that I edit a comic paper. My wit does not seem harmless enough to the authorities. In the last number we had some funny trifles: telegraphic messages exchanged between St. Petersburg and Denmark, the picture of a man-one could see nothing but his feet in military high boots-hurrying into a starting train; the legend 'going off,' and such-like quite harmless! But we are given a constitution and liberty of the Press. Preliminary censure is abolished; we are subjected to a Press law instead. And here I am summoned by the judge, accused of a State offence, and liable to I don't know how many months of prison. Long live the Russian freedom of the Press!"

He did not seem to mind the prospect of prison much; he was young, glad to have expressed his protest even at such a price, and confident in the victory of real freedom which would

put an end to these sham constitutional rights.

"I say, there is poor Fedya!" he exclaimed, and, leaving Vera, went to the door to greet a friend who had just made his appearance-another editor whose paper was stopped and who was summoned to the law court.

The turn of Vera and her mother came, and they were called to the magistrate's study. He invited them to take seats, and asked politely what he could do for them. He was young and probably very ambitious. His new appointment to deal with political offences-those of the Press included seemed to him a stroke of good luck. Quite an obscure official till then, he had now come into prominence; his name was often mentioned in the papers-with what comments did not matter to him. He believed himself on the way to a brilliant career, and was exultant. He meant, of course, to side with the authorities and to give his conclusions according to instructions from "higher up." But he tried in the meantime to gain the sympathy of the intellectual people with whom he had to deal now. He seemed so kind, so sympathetic, so sincereand so talkative! He could not help showing off his importance.

"Almazoff?" he repeated the name Marya Petrovna told him. "Oh, yes, I know; the young Socialist, arrested accidentally. He is accused of making propaganda among the workers."

"But he is not guilty," began Marya Petrovna. "It is all a false report."

"We will see," interrupted the magistrate. "You need not be uneasy. Your son's cause is one of many. Nothing serious, I daresay. But you must give me time. I am just now so very busy with more important matters. All the Press people. So many things weighing on my shoulders." He could not resist the temptation to boast in the presence of the lovely young girl.

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Now that one has become a mere participant in the well-ordered feast, both the dinner itself and the occasion which it represents have lost much of their original flavor. The former should, of course, to be fully enjoyed, be stolen in small quantities from the pantry, and consumed in a dark, remote spare bedroom; the latter should be viewed in fragments surreptitiously from an ambush.

I can remember hardly any event which threw the nursery into so high a state of excitement as an impending "dinner party." For this strange function, whose real intention was wrapped in obscurity, laid a potent spell upon the house, turning it into a home of pure romance, giving a wholly new aspect to familiar things, subtly affecting the behavior of familiar persons. From the very moment when the iron handle was brought forth from the back of the sideboard, and at its magic touch the dining-room table split across the centre and expanded irresistibly along the carpet with a yawning chasm growing by inches in its interior, and was thereafter fitted with

"leaves" to make good the discrepancy, so that at last it assumed splendid and over-powering proportions; till the moment when one had been finally captured for bed, and had nothing left to hope for, except to try to keep awake to listen for departing carriages, the afternoon and evening resolved themselves into one long adventure.

The development of the dining-room table alone from the humble board at which we had lunched into a glittering prodigy that filled the whole room was in itself a process well worth watching. Its final equipment was so lavish, so far beyond the needs of the case, so fantastic and unreal that one could but marvel at it as one of the most astonishing revelations of the mind of the Grown-up. The number of knives and forks alone, if one took the trouble to count them, was cause for laughter, but the glasses were simply bewildering, suggesting as they did a degree of excessive and discriminating thirst which one had not regarded as possible.

The only innovation with which one could generously sympathize was the treatment of the table napkins. In

these upstanding and contorted forms -each bearing a small roll of bread within its snow-white heart-one could almost trace the hand of genius. That was a feat to be practised with clean pocket-handkerchiefs for days to come.

Of course it was well understood, as it had been vigorously laid down, that our sole duty on such an occasion as this was to "keep out of the way." But to obey the injunction literally was more than flesh and blood could be expected to stand. It was really very little use trying to get into the kitchenan alluring scene of distracted effort, where all manner of miracles were being hourly performed-but one could always climb down the dank little enclosure outside and enjoy the prospect from the windows, slowly mastering by observation the principal items of the bill of fare. As a matter of fact, one was pretty well posted as to the progress of the campaign, and if there had been any question of the fish arriving late, or any doubt at all as to the successful outcome of the savory, the company at nursery tea had discussed the crisis with sympathetic interest. Nursery tea was apt to be inadequate on these occasions, but we made no complaint on that score. Well we knew-who better?-the strain that had been thrown on the administration.

The next glorious event of the evening was the appearance of Old John Gardener. That was one of the finest examples of the faculty of the party for turning all things topsy-turvy. For John-it was obvious to the meanest intelligence-looked hopelessly out of place in the house, though we were all agreed that he was exceedingly handsome in his black suit. For a long time we believed that he was regularly called in when the climax arrived as a sort of dictator to take over the complete direction of the affair-a position quite admirably in accordance with his talents, and it was with something of

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disappointment that we discovered later that his was the humbler office of assisting with the carving and carrying the heavy dishes up the kitchen stairs.

Before we come to the active period of skirmishing which filled the evening I would point out that much depended on the waitress of the moment. There were several of these in our day, but they all fell into one of two classes; those who said they would bring you something afterwards if you would go away now and be good, and those who gave you something at once as the price of your going away.

The Arrival was witnessed, of course, from a safe ambush. The favorite spot was the curtain at the head of the stairs which commanded the hall, but it only accommodated two. Others must be content with the top of the long linen-press in the lobby or the chink of a half-closed door. When every new-comer was safely stowed in the drawing-room we would come out and compare notes, ready to seek cover again at the next ring of the bell. But we were always in our places when dinner was announced, lying flat upon the upper landing and peering through the banisters, enjoying a magnificent view of the short procession as it turned into the dining-room. After that there was a pause for awhile. One's sisters probably detached themselves from the main party, and stole into the bedroom behind us with a view to examining from a safe distance, and not without a certain awe, the cloaks of the visiting ladies laid out upon the bed. It seemed silly, but girls were like that. In the meantime there was not much to be done, for no one is interested in soup, and the occasion was, therefore, a good one to go down to the dining-room door and "listen to the buzz." There we would stand whispering for a time while feverish servitors passed to and fro. And certainly there was nothing more mysterious or

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