The girl released her lip and her voice came out suddenly, ringing,
clear as if the room had been large and the Cossack deaf; it seemed to
burst from her throat.

"I am not his wife," she said, "He is mistaken. He is telling you that
out of kindness. Monsieur is a stranger to me, until last night a
perfect stranger. I don't know him at all. Don't believe what he
says. You see for yourself there are no papers. Is it likely?"

The tones of her voice seemed to die away suddenly and a drop of blood
oozed from her lip. She wiped it away and clinched her teeth again,
fiercely, as if hedging her words.

"Kaya!" cried the man. "She is my wife, I tell you, she is my wife!
The priest married us. I can prove it."

"Silence," cried the Cossack. "What do we care if you are married or
not. You will be imprisoned anyway for meddling in a matter that does
not concern you. Silence, I tell you. Answer my questions. What is
your name?"

"My name is Velasco."

"Ha--the musician?"

"Yes."

"Very good! Try again. There is only one Velasco in Russia, as every
one knows, and he isn't here. Your name? Tell the truth if you can."

"My name is Velasco."

"The devil it is!" cried the Cossack, "Ha ha!--You two make a pair
between you. Velasco! The Wizard of the bow! The one all Russia is
mad over! Ye saints! I would give my old cavalry boots to have heard
him. Bah--you anarchist dog! Now, damn you, answer me straight or
I'll make you. Your name?"

The Cossack leaned over the desk, his eyes blazing fiercely, shaking
his fist. "No nonsense now; do you think we can't prove it?
Quick--your name?"

The prisoner folded his arms and stared up at the cross-barred window,
half closing his eyes. The brows seemed to swell, to weigh down the
lids.

"Will you answer or not?"

Velasco swayed a little and a dark gleam shot out between the slits:
"If I had been brought up a soldier," he said, "instead of a musician,
I should take pleasure in knocking you down; as it is, my muscles were
trained to much better purpose. This interview, sir, is becoming
unpleasant. I will trouble you to send for my Stradivarius at once.
Some of your men stole it, I fancy, last night. It is worth its weight
twice over in gold. There is not another like it in the country,
perhaps in the world. The next time his majesty, the Tsar, requests my
presence, I shall inform him that the violin is here in his fortress,
stolen by a slovenly,