ything? You must tell me all now."

"We talked--we were always talking."

"No, tell me everything!"

Unconsciously she claimed, and he seemed unconsciously to admit her right
to this knowledge.

"There's not much to tell. One day we began talking in low voices
--Garin began it; he had been in some affair in Russia. We took an oath;
after that we never raised our voices. We had a plan. It was all new to
me, and I hated the whole thing--but I was always hungry, or sick from
taking charity, and I would have done anything. They knew that; they
used to look at me and Schonborn; we knew that no one else had any
courage. He and I were great friends, but we never talked of that; we
tried to keep our minds away from the thought of it. If we had a good
day and were not so hungry, it seemed unnatural; but when the day had not
been good--then it seemed natural enough. I wasn't afraid, but I used to
wake up in the night; I hated the oath we had taken, I hated every one of
those fellows; the thing was not what I was made for, it wasn't my work,
it wasn't my nature, it was forced on me--I hated it, but sometimes I was
like a madman."

"Yes, yes," she murmured.

"All this time I was working at the Academie, and learning all I
could.... One evening that we met, Paunitz was not there. Misek was
telling us how the thing had been arranged. Schonborn and I looked at
each other--it was warm--perhaps we were not hungry--it was springtime,
too, and in the Spring it's different. There is something."

Christian nodded.

"While we were talking there came a knock at the door. Lendorf put his
eye to the keyhole, and made a sign. The police were there. Nobody said
anything, but Misek crawled under the bed; we all followed; and the
knocking grew louder and louder. In the wall at the back of the bed was
a little door into an empty cellar. We crept through. There was a
trap-door behind some cases, where they used to roll barrels in. We
crawled through that into the back street. We went different ways."

He paused, and Christian gasped.

"I thought I would get my money, but there was a policeman before my
door. They had us finely. It was Paunitz; if I met him even now I
should wring his neck. I swore I wouldn't be caught, but I had no idea
where to go. Then I thought of a little Italian barber who used to shave
me when I had money for a shave; I knew he would help. He belonged to
some Italian Society; he often talked