wn
relations with the revolutionary organisation. Hitherto my visits to the
town had been short, only to spend my school holidays in fact. Very
young, moreover, I had never belonged to any of the clubs; and my
friendships with their members had been purely personal. Now, however, I
was older, and I had come to stop at X---- for several months. In the
face of the gaps the late arrests had made in the little army of
revolutionists, I felt that I must enlist. I offered my services, and
they were accepted.

Towards the middle of the summer, my uncle and aunt went to Moroznoie, a
little village near the town where their property lay. Leaving St.
Petersburg before the end of the University year, I, a student of
medicine, had been obliged to put off my examinations until the autumn.
These examinations, or rather, my necessity to work and prepare for
them, coupled with the presence of a fine public library at X----, gave
me the pretext I needed to stay behind during the family villegiatura.
After some opposition, and a good deal of talk about the superiority of
country air, my uncle and aunt consented--the more easily, perhaps,
because, after all, I was not to be alone; my Aunt Vera and two servants
were to remain in the town house. Besides, my uncle and his wife were
often coming back for a day or two at a time, and I promised to pass all
my Sundays with them. This arrangement suited me perfectly. My Aunt
Vera, my dead father's sister, was the sweetest and gentlest of women,
an invalid, with an infinite tenderness for Serge and myself, the
orphans of her favourite brother. The servants also, an old nurse and a
gardener, were entirely devoted to my family and to me. I was therefore
free, mistress of the house, of my time, of myself. Divided between my
studies, a few visits paid and received, and my weekly trip to
Moroznoie, my life flowed peacefully, monotonously enough--on the
surface.

[Illustration: "WE ARE BETRAYED!"]

Down deep, alas! it was not the same. Our revolutionary group was being
harried by the police, and their arrests and domiciliary visits were
conducted with so much skill and certainty, we were forced to believe
at last that we were betrayed by a traitor or a spy among our own
numbers. Strictly watched by the police, who kept us "moving on,"
avoided on that account by some of our friends, and knowing perfectly
well that a single false step might bring ruin not only upon ourselves,
but upon many others, we