The Governor-General consigned me to Kajana as a "political,"
which was synonymous with a sentence of death in those damp, dark
_oubliettes_ beneath the water-dungeons every whit as awful as those of
the Paris Bastile.
We faced each other, and I looked straight into his gray, bony face, and
answered in a tone of defiance:
"You are Governor-General, it is true, but you will, I think, reflect
before you consign me, an Englishman, to prison without trial. I know
full well that the English are hated by Russia, yet I assure you that in
London we entertain no love for your nation or its methods."
"Yes," he laughed, "you are quite right. Russia has no use for an effete
ally such as England is."
"Effete or powerful, my country is still able to present an ultimatum
when diplomacy requires it," I said. "Therefore I have no fear. Send me
to prison, and I tell you that the responsibility rests upon yourself."
And folding my arms I kept my eyes intently upon his, so that he should
not see that I wavered.
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