14. The Object—And Afterwards

The great Ataman felt as if burned by a hot iron. He made several turns in the room like a wounded lion. Then, having opened the window, he looked out into the darkness of night.

The silence was such, and the Ataman’s emotion so great, that Maroussia, though at the other end of the room, thought she could hear his wounded heart beat.

Refreshed by the night air, calmed by its very silence, he returned and sat down by the little table, opposite Tchetchevik.

“At least,” said he, “it will be well understood that it is because I am the better man that you count upon me to give way to the worse. It will be known that it is because no renunciation is to be expected from him who has already learned one-half of his part from Judas, that you ask from me such an act of devotion.”

“It is,” said Tchetchevik, “to make it impossible for him to play the whole part of Judas, to take away from him every reason, every motive, every pretext of following it to the end; it is because we know that you are the most noble of the sons of Ukraine, that we ask you to efface yourself for a time before this unworthy man, whom your glory offends, and whom envy alone throws into the arms of the Russians.”

“At least, no one will accuse me of treason, or of cowardice, when I have agreed to what you ask.”

“On the contrary, no one will be ignorant of the heroism of your sacrifice. Do not our friends know, who sent me, how difficult it must be for you to decide upon it.”

“And, if, in spite of all this, the miserable creature should sell us?”

“He will die before having fulfilled his contract,” Tchetchevik said quietly. “He is, thank God, the only possible traitor in his family. Someone is watching near him who will not let him entirely dishonor himself.” There were pen, ink and paper on the table, the Ataman took the pen. Tchetchevik looked toward Maroussia and read her anxiety in her eyes. His little friend did not feel at her ease. It was so difficult to do what the Envoy exacted of the Ataman, that the latter might finally become very angry, and then, between two men of their stamp what might happen?

A smile from Tchetchevik made the little deaf and dumb girl understand that she might be tranquil.

The Ataman was writing, weighing each word, as he had reason. For of all letters an abdication is not written between two whiffs of a pipe.

When the letter was finished, he gave it to Tchetchevik.

“There,” he said, “are you satisfied?”

After having read it, Tchetchevik answered: “Satisfied? No, indeed! For I would give my life to put you in the place of him whom we seem to prefer. But I am proud for Ukraine of this renunciation of the noblest of her sons. If we must succumb in this struggle, our history will record one hero more. Those who die for Ukraine will have nothing with which to reproach themselves. You, who have done more than anyone, for you have descended from power to save her,— without even being sure of succeeding, you will die gloriously twice. Let your soul be comforted! You give us the only means of uniting the country.”