I had within so short a time been condemned to death
by the extremists--the most implacable element among the nihilists.
They do not dread death themselves so long as they accomplish the death
of him who has been condemned, and one who has fallen under the ban of
their disapproval is in as great danger in broad daylight, among a
hundred companions, as he is on dark streets and among unfrequented
byways. I thought it best, therefore, to provide as well as possible
against another attempt to assassinate me, and therefore sought my own
apartments before going to the palace. I intended to adopt a disguise
of some kind, and, moreover, I had given orders for several of my
leaders to meet me there, and I knew that I would find them waiting.

They were there when I arrived--Coyle, Canfield, Malet, St. Cyr, and
with them several of their lieutenants. There was another one there
also, whose hands were tied behind him, and whose feet were fastened
together, while, by way of additional security, he was tied to the
chair in which my friends had seated him. That man was Ivan, the
brother of Princess Zara. I did not glance at him as I entered, but
notwithstanding his presence, proceeded at once to business,
instructing my men in exactly what they were to do that night. And he
listened intently, first with anger and even rage, then with scorn and
contempt, but finally with wonder and genuine fear. I had arranged the
affair for the purpose of teaching Ivan de Echeveria a moral lesson. I
had determined to save him, even against himself--for Zara's sake.

In order to convey some idea of the moral effect that the meeting had
upon him, I must outline a part of it. One by one my men read off lists
of the nihilists under their jurisdiction, accurately describing them,
as well as the several disguises that they were in the habit of
wearing, the meeting places of the different branches of the society,
and where the members of those branches were to be found at certain
hours. Included in the lists were names of many prominent people in the
city, officers in the army, policemen on duty, spies in private
families, in hotels and cafes, in the palace, at the barracks, in the
prisons, and, in fact, everywhere. As name after name was read off,
until the number amounted to many hundreds the face of Ivan de
Echeveria became as pale as death, and when, at last, his own sister's
name was read, and I remarked grimly that she was already a prisoner,
and w