“Yes,” I said, “because your class are determined that the peasant shall remain uneducated, and until he is educated he will be unable to approach any of us.”

“Quite so,” said the Baron smiling at me very cheerfully.  “I perceive, M. Durward, that you are a democrat.  So are we all, these days....  You look surprised, but I assure you that the good of the people in the interests of the people is the only thing for which any of us care.  Only some of us know Russia pretty well, and we know that the Russian peasant is not ready for liberty, and if you were to give him liberty to-night you would plunge his country into the most desperate torture of anarchy and carnage known in history.  A little more soup?—­we are offering you only a slight dinner.”

“Yes, but, Baron,” I said, “would you tell me when it is intended that the Russian peasant shall begin his upward course towards light and learning?  If that day is to be for ever postponed?”

“It will not be for ever postponed,” said the Baron gently.  “Let us finish the war, and education shall be given slowly, under wise direction, to every man, woman, and child in the country.  Our Czar is the most liberal ruler in Europe—­and he knows what is good for his children.”

“And Protopopoff and Stuermer?” I asked.

“Protopopoff is a zealous, loyal liberal, but he has been made to see during these last months that Russia is not at this moment ready for freedom.  Stuermer—­well, M. Stuermer is gone.”

“So you, yourself, Baron,” I asked, “would oppose at this moment all reform?”

“With every drop of blood in my body,” he answered, and his hand flat against the tablecloth quivered.  “At this crisis admit one change and your dyke is burst, your land flooded.  Every Russian is asked at this moment to believe in simple things—­his religion, his Czar, his country.  Grant your reforms, and in a week every babbler in the country will be off his head, talking, screaming, fighting.  The Germans will occupy Russia at their own good time, you will be beaten on the West and civilisation will be set back two hundred years.  The only hope for Russia is unity, and for unity you must have discipline, and for discipline, in Russia at any rate, you must have an autocracy.”

As he spoke the furniture, the grey walls, the heavy carpets, seemed to whisper an echo of his words:  “Unity...  Discipline...  Discipline...  Autocracy...  Autocracy...  Autocracy....”

“Then tell me, Baron,” I said, “if it isn’t an impertinent question, do you feel so secure in your position that you have no fears at all?  Does such a crisis, as for instance Milyukoff’s protest last November, mean nothing?  You know the discontent....  Is there no fear....?”

“Fear!” He interrupted me, his voice swift and soft and triumphant.  “M.  Durward, are you so ignorant of Russia that you consider the outpourings of a few idealistic Intelligentzia, professors and teachers and poets, as important?  What about the people, M. Durward?  You ask any peasant in the Moscow Government, or little Russia, or the Ukraine whether he will remain loyal to his Little Father or no!  Ask—­and the question you suggested to me will be answered.”