e has spoken to me of these
things. I think, Nicholas, that he is afraid of you."

"Perhaps," Reist remarked, bitterly, "he mistook me for an honest
man."

"It is freedom for Theos," she said, softly, "and revenge upon the
King. Whatever may befall him from our hands he has deserved."

"Is Domiloff still in Theos?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You will find him at the Cafe Metropolitan," she said, "only he is
now a Frenchman. You must ask for Monsieur Abouyat."

Reist moved restlessly up and down the room. Often his fingers sought
the place where his sword should have been.

"Something I must do," he muttered. "I might disguise myself as a
peasant and fight in the ranks. To be here idle is horrible; to go to
Domiloff--I cannot!"

He looked gloomily out into the darkness. The inaction was
unendurable. She crossed the room to his side and laid her hand upon
his arm.

"It is not by standing still, Nicholas, or by indecision that you can
preserve your country or avenge your honour," she said. "Go to
Domiloff. Hear what he has to say. Then ask yourself what is best for
Theos."

"Domiloff has the tongue of a fiend," he answered, "or a serpent. I do
not dare to trust myself with him. Russia would play us false in the
end. Our freedom would be undermined. I myself should be a puppet, a
doll, at the beck and call of a master. Oh, I know how these Russians
treat an independent State if once their fingers are upon her throat."

"You talk as though Theos were not already doomed," she cried. "What
hope have we as it is? Nicholas, have you ever thought what must
happen when the Turks have crossed the frontier. You know their
way--it is blood and fire and desolation. Have you considered the
women and children, Nicholas?"

He groaned. The recollection of former raids was lurid and terrible
enough. It was hard for him to see clearly. And his scabbard was
empty.

"I will go to Domiloff," he said at last, "I will hear what he has to
say."

CHAPTER XXXV

It was very dark, very stuffy, and a strong, malodorous suggestion of
garlic pervaded the little _cafe_. The ordinary customers of the place
preferred always the round tables outside, and very few passed through
the worn swing doors which led to the gloomy interior. The two men who
occupied one of the small partitions had the place to themselves.

"It is not the time, this, for any weak scruples, my dear Reist,"
Domiloff was saying. "Theos in a week's time will b