ant to insult you at all, but you simply don't know
that the Christian virtues that you are admiring just now so
extravagantly are simply cowardice and apathy....Wait a little! Wait a
little! and then tell me whether I've not been right."

There was a moment's pause like the hush before the storm, and then
Markovitch broke in upon us. I can see and hear him now, standing there
behind Vera with his ridiculous collar and his anxious eyes. The words
simply pouring from him in a torrent, his voice now rising into a shrill
scream, now sinking into a funny broken bass like the growl of a young
baby tiger. And yet he was never ridiculous. I've known other mortals,
and myself one of the foremost, who, under the impulse of some sudden
anger, enthusiasm, or regret, have been simply figures of fun....
Markovitch was never that. He was like a dying man fighting for
possession of the last plank. I can't at this distance of time remember
all that he said. He talked a great deal about Russia; while he spoke I
noticed that he avoided Semyonov's eyes, which never for a single
instant left his face.

"Oh, don't you see, don't you see?" he cried. "Russia's chance has come
back to her? We can fight now a holy, patriotic war. We can fight, not
because we are told to by our masters, but because we, of our own free
will, wish to defend the soil of our sacred country. _Our_ country! No
one has thought of Russia for the last two years--we have thought only
of ourselves, our privations, our losses--but now--now. O God! the world
may be set free again because Russia is at last free!"

"Yes," said Semyonov quietly (his eyes covered Markovitch's face as a
searchlight finds out the running figure of a man). "And who has spoken
of Russia during the last few days? Russia! Why, I haven't heard the
word mentioned once. I may have been unlucky, I don't know. I've been
out and about the streets a good deal... I've listened to a great many
conversations.... Democracy, yes, and Brotherhood and Equality and
Fraternity and Bread and Land and Peace and Idleness--but Russia! Not a
sound...."

"It will come! It will come!" Markovitch urged. "It _must_ come! You
didn't walk, Alexei, as I did last night, through the streets, and see
the people and hear their voices and see their faces.... Oh! I believe
that at last that good has come to the world, and happiness and peace;
and it is Russia who will lead the way.... Thank God! Thank God!" Even
as he spoke some i