that day. Don't give me this work to do with a woman--and with one of
your family, too. I simply cannot bear to think of it."

He was absolutely wringing his hands. My uncle looked at him in silence.

"Thank you for this warning. I assure you that even if she were dying
she would be carried out to the carriage."

"Yes--indeed--and what difference would it make--travel to Kiev or back
to her husband? For she would have to go--death or no death. And mind,
Mr. B., I will be here on the day, not that I doubt your promise, but
because I must. I have got to. Duty. All the same my trade is not fit
for a dog since some of you Poles will persist in rebelling, and all of
you have got to suffer for it."

This is the reason why he was there in an open three-horse trap pulled
up between the house and the great gates. I regret not being able to
give up his name to the scorn of all believers in the right of conquest,
as a reprehensibly sensitive guardian of Imperial greatness. On the
other hand, I am in a position to state the name of the Governor-General
who signed the order with the marginal note "to be carried out to the
letter" in his own handwriting. The gentleman's name was Bezak. A high
dignitary, an energetic official, the idol for a time of the Russian
patriotic press.

Each generation has its memories.


IV