"He must get ready," they said. "He must buy clothes.
Soon he will go to Moscow to the Teknik and become a wise
man."

Now it so happened that there came one day to the door
a drosky, or one-horse carriage, and in it was a man and
beside him a girl. The man stopped to ask the way from
Itch, who pointed down the post road over the plain. But
his hand trembled and his knees shook as he showed the
way. For the eyes of the man who asked the way were dark
with hate and cruel with power. And he wore a uniform
and there was brass upon his cap. But Serge looked only
at the girl. And there was no hate in her eyes, but only
a great burning, and a look that went far beyond the
plain, Serge knew not where. And as Serge looked, the
girl turned her face and their eyes met, and he knew that
he would never forget her. And he saw in her face that
she would never forget him. For that is love.

"Who is that?" he asked, as he went back again with Itch
into the house.

"It is Kwartz, chief of police," said Itch, and his knees
still trembled as he spoke.

"Where is he taking her?" said Serge.

"To Moscow, to the prison," answered Itch. "There they
will hang her and she will die."