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Updated: May 3, 2025
The hand that still held the pistol was flung wide. "It's not Vardri," the other man said. "Is it ?" Sobrenski cut across the question. "A traitor," he said. "What does it matter about the name? Get back all of you and see to the horses. There should be two of them and there's only one here. We've got to find the other one."
"Well," he rejoined, "what can you expect in this filthy place? This street isn't so bad, but of course she has so often been down in those slums in the Parelelo. The Calle de Pescadores alone is enough to give anyone a fever. I think Sobrenski has made a point of sending her down every poisonous street in the place.
Those letters you have written me saying all sorts of things against the Cause, I left a piece of one about somewhere, I don't know where, and Sobrenski found it. He has just told me that in about half an hour's time before all the rest of them leave, he is going to send on one of the men in advance.
If they heard that some member of the band had found his way to the fortress of Montjuich there was callous laughter and a speculation as to whose turn it would be next. Their meetings were held in divers places. Sometimes they would engage a room at the Hotel Catalonia and hold what were supposed to be classes for astronomy. Sobrenski was the lecturer, the rest posing as students.
"In the Calle de Pescadores out at Barcelonetta. Sobrenski sent me with a message to you. The place is being watched. If they see you go in you may be arrested. The others got to hear about the spies, and went early. They are going to stay there all night because it isn't safe to leave." Her tone was that of one who repeats a well-learned lesson. Emile shrugged. "Spies? So that's it!
Sobrenski pulled doubtfully at his reddish, pointed beard. "Does she know anything about the Cause?" "I fancy not, but she appears to have the right ideas, and after I have judiciously fanned the flame! girls of that age are always wildly enthusiastic over something so she may as well devote her enthusiasm to us."
And she had been both frightened and fascinated. This was what Anarchism made of men like the cynical Emile. It had never occurred to her before that even Sobrenski, whom she regarded solely as a brutal task-master, was himself a living sacrifice.
We have everything in our favour to-night, Sobrenski does not know you are here yet. If you go soon you will get away without his having seen you at all. Here is the key of my room. Go there first, and you will find all your own letters in a wooden box in my big trunk. That isn't locked. Open it and burn them all. Then go on to your own room, do the same with yours and stay there.
Sobrenski and the others would certainly have considered him hopelessly mad if they had known. It was many years since he had sent flowers to a woman. His present life did not encourage little courtesies and graceful actions. It was in the natural course of events that all the comrades should help one another in every possible way, but none of them made any virtue out of it.
When he had given her the despatch she made an objection on the grounds that the time taken in conveying it would absorb her few hours of rest. "It's too far," she protested. "I can't go there to-day." "Then you can go to-morrow," answered Sobrenski in the accents of finality.
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