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Updated: May 3, 2025
The Cause came first, and he feared danger for Arithelli, knowing that if there was anything specially risky to be done she would be the one chosen. Sobrenski was always harder on her than on the others. He watched her with the hungry, faithful eyes of an animal, and got up from his seat with instinctive courtesy.
Now we are alone, we can speak the truth to each other, you and I. Vardri, do you still care for the Cause in the same way you did before?" She whispered the question fearfully, yet knowing well what the answer must be. "I don't feel the same about it since I have known you." "I have not tried to make you a traitor, have I? Sobrenski always suspects me of that." "My sweet, you have done nothing.
Perhaps in the hurry of dressing that night, she had only taken with her the first page, and when she was out her rooms had been searched, and the rest stolen. Sobrenski would stop at nothing to get the evidence he wanted.
But even Sobrenski can't murder us without sufficient evidence. He will be obliged to make some formal parade of justice to put it all before the rest of the society. If he doesn't get our letters he will not have sufficient evidence." "But if we go away together to-night, as we intended? We've got a start. We can take the best horses. That is the best plan." Arithelli shook her head.
Both had taken upon themselves vows that put them outside the pale of human ties and affections. The Goddess whom they both served had risen, claiming their allegiance, their service, and with the lives and ways of mortal women they had no concern. The Cause had triumphed. "Do you not know I am a woman?" Sobrenski was a man who wasted no time in making up his mind.
Just before I got ill, Sobrenski sent me to a little newspaper shop down in the Parelelo quarter. I was to ask if they sold 'Le Flambeau. The man looked at me hard and asked if there was any connection between that journal and the one published at number 27 Calle de Pescadores. The sun must have made me feel stupid, and I answered Yes, without thinking.
Emile had also explained Vardri's position, and it would be impossible to adjust anything without being on the spot. He read the letter over again, slowly and carefully. It hinted and suggested more than it had said. Emile had just come from an interview with Sobrenski, and there had been a talk of an entire re-organization of the band.
He sat scowling after his manner, black eyebrows meeting over grey eyes, hard as flint. "If you are going in for this kind of performance, what will be the use of you?" he enquired sarcastically. Perhaps after all Sobrenski had been right in employing no women. "Even the best machine will get out of order sometimes," the girl replied wearily.
There was a manuscript to be delivered to Sobrenski, an article of Jean Grave's from Les Temps Nouveaux which she had copied for reproduction. She finished dressing her hair, and pushed the window more widely open, for the sound of music in the distance had caught her ear.
He continued: "The sentence has been passed and it falls upon you to execute it." The answer came back swiftly: "And if I refuse?" For once in his life Sobrenski was taken aback, and experienced a new sensation, that of surprise. He looked at her with almost approval. If he was cruel he was also courageous, and able to appreciate the virtue in others.
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