part in these conversations. Desnoyers had become
acquainted with the Russian neighbor of whom Argensola had so frequently
spoken. Since this odd personage had also known his son, that was enough
to make Tchernoff arouse his interest.

In normal times, he would have kept him at a distance. The millionaire
was a great believer in law and order. He abominated revolutionists,
with the instinctive fear of all the rich who have built up a fortune
and remember their humble beginnings. Tchernoff's socialism and
nationality brought vividly to his mind a series of feverish
images--bombs, daggers, stabbings, deserved expiations on the gallows,
and exile to Siberia. No, he was not desirable as a friend. . . .

But now Don Marcelo was experiencing an abrupt reversal of his
convictions regarding alien ideas. He had seen so much! . . . The
revolting proceedings of the invasion, the unscrupulous methods of the
German chiefs, the tranquillity with which their submarines were sinking
boats filled with defenseless passengers, the deeds of the aviators
who were hurling bombs upon unguarded cities, destroying women and
children--all this was causing the events of revolutionary terrorism
which, years ago, used to arouse his wrath, to sink into relative
unimportance.

"And to think," he said "that we used to be as infuriated as though
the world were coming to an end, just because someone threw a bomb at a
grandee!"

Those titled victims had had certain reprehensible qualities which had
justified their execution. They had died in consequence of acts which
they undertook, knowing well what the punishment would be. They had
brought retribution on themselves without trying to evade it, rarely
taking any precautions. While the terrorists of this war! . . .

With the violence of his imperious character, the old conservative now
swung to the opposite extreme.

"The true anarchists are yet on top," he said with an ironical laugh.
"Those who terrified us formerly, all put together, were but a few
miserable creatures. . . . In a few seconds, these of our day kill more
innocent people than those others did in thirty years."

The gentleness of Tchernoff, his original ideas, his incoherencies
of thought, bounding from reflection to word without any preparation,
finally won Don Marcelo so completely over that he formed the habit
of consulting him about all his doubts. His admiration made him, too,
overlook the source of certain bottles with which