n't go on!"

"And you can't turn back, _mon enfant_."

"I'll run away."

"Do you think they wouldn't find you? You know enough about our
organisation now. No one who has once joined us is ever allowed to
escape. You would be found sooner or later, and then--you remember
what I told you once? That I am responsible for you to the
Brotherhood?"

He spoke calmly, patiently, as if he were explaining things to a child.

If his associates could have seen the cynical Emile Poleski of ordinary
life they would have found reason to marvel!

The gesture of uncontrollable horror told him that she understood only
too well. What should the upholders of the Cause care for ties, for
friendships, for pity?

If she were recaptured Emile would be her executioner. He might
refuse, but that would not save her and he would be shot as well. Why
should he suffer because she had lost her courage and turned traitress?

She tried to collect her senses, and to think properly. Everything
felt blurred and far off. One thing alone seemed certain--that there
was no way out of the _impasse_.

Emile had walked to the glass-door and unlocked it. Then he came back
to her.

"It's time we were going," he said. "It will not do to be here too
long. As our friend the spy is patrolling the street outside in
readiness for my appearance, we will go out the other way. The Calle
Santa Teresa is nearly always deserted. It's just as well you should
be seen with me. They don't know yet that you are working for us, so
it will look less as if I were _en route_ for a meeting. But before we
start, have you decided to be wise and to save me from an unpleasant
duty?"

"Yes. I'll stay. At least while you are here."

"While I am here?" the man echoed. "Et alors--?"

"Then?" She threw out her arms in a hopeless gesture. "Who knows?
Who can read the future? And after all, as you have said, 'What does
one life more or less matter?'"

CHAPTER IX

"Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie!"
DE MUSSET.

Arithelli awoke next day in her comfortless room, and lay wondering
over the waking nightmare of the past hours. Everything seemed so
different in the morning. There was no thrill of excitement now,
nothing to make her blood run quickly. She only felt flat, dull,
stupid, and disinclined to move. How strange and unlike himself Emile
had been. She had lost her nerve, raved, and threatened to run away,
and he had neither