red. "Shall it be the messages or a bullet?
You can take your choice. Perhaps you would prefer the latter. It
makes no difference to me. This comes of employing women. When
Poleski brought you here first I was opposed to having you. Women
always give trouble."

"Would you have got a man to do half the work I do?" she flashed out
with desperate courage.

"Then _do_ your work and don't talk about it," retorted Sobrenski
sharply. "If you are absolutely ill and in bed, of course we can't
expect you to go to various places, but as long as you can ride every
night at the Hippodrome, you can certainly carry messages."

He turned his back on her and took up some papers from the table, and
Arithelli went out, beaten and raging.

Emile found her lying on the bed, her hands clenched by her side, her
proud mouth set in bitter lines. As he came in she turned away from
him, to face the wall.

"_Tiens_!" he observed, "you are a lazy little trollop." Emile was
proud of his English slang.

Finding there was no answer he changed his tone. "Hysterics, eh? They
won't do here. Turn over, I want to talk to you."

The girl moved mechanically, and Emile surveyed her. There were slow
tears forcing themselves under her heavy eyelids.

"I wish I were dead!"

"Probably you will be soon. So will the rest of us."

"What brutes you all are!"

"Because we don't care whether we die to-day or to-morrow? _Souvent
femme varie_! Just now you seemed so anxious,--besides, if one belongs
to the Cause one knows what to expect." Emile strolled towards the
uncomfortable piece of furniture by the window, that purported to be an
armchair, and sat down.

"I loathe the Cause! I didn't belong to it from choice. Why did you
make me join?"

"Because I thought you would be useful. You _are_ useful and probably
will be more so."

"Suppose I refuse to do anything more?"

"They will not give you the choice of refusing twice."

"Emile, I believe you are trying to frighten me. Tell me what they
would do."

"As I introduced you to the Brotherhood, I should naturally be the one
chosen to execute judgment on you. _Enfin_, my dear Arithelli, I
should be called upon to shoot you. We don't forgive traitors. If we
let everyone draw back from their work simply because they happened to
be afraid, what would become of the Cause? Also let me remind you how
you came to me boasting of your love of freedom. 'I'm a red-hot
Socialist.' That