"Yes."
"Do you know what nihilism is, Mr. Dubravnik?"
"No. I have always regarded it as a dangerous organization; morally
dangerous, I mean. You must not think that I have considered joining it
for any other reason than to place myself in a position where I will
feel that it is my duty to respect the confidence that I stole from
you, rather than to betray it."
"Then you never had such a thought until you knew I was a nihilist?"
"Never."
"And you would join us for my sake?"
"No."
"For whose, then?"
"For the sake of the czar."
"Ah! You would join only to betray them all into the hands of the
police! That is what you mean."
Zara leaped to her feet. Her whole manner underwent a change and for
the instant she was completely dominated by a furious scorn which found
its expression in every single pose of the attitude she assumed. Her
eyes blazed with the sudden anger she felt at me, brought about more by
the thought which came to her that I, whom she had stooped to admire,
was nothing but a spy. A torrent of words rushed to her lips, at least
her appearance was that she was on the point of denouncing me most
bitterly; but I raised a hand and interrupted her, bending slightly
forward, and speaking with sharp decision, although coolly, and with
studied conciseness of expression.
"No," I said. "If I should become a nihilist, it would be to protect
the emperor, not to betray your friends."
Again her entire manner underwent a change. As if she thoroughly
believed me, the fury of scorn left her eyes, the angry glitter of them
ceased, the rigidity of her attitude relaxed, and I saw that she was
regarding me with an expression of wondering amazement, in which pity,
and longing, not unmixed with admiration, were dominant. She was silent
for the moment, but she kept her eyes fixed upon mine, and gradually
they began to glow with that fire of enthusiasm which no argument can
ever hope to overcome. Looking upon her I realized that if she were not
a nihilist at heart, she had become one by reason of some great mental
cataclysm through which she had passed. I believed then, and I was to
know later, that I was correct, and that nothing at present apparent
could swerve her from her set purpose, or could influence her against
the cause she had undertaken, and was now upholding, so valiantly. The
spasms of remorse that rushed upon her at times, and such feelings of
repugnance as I had heard her express in the garden, were only oases
in the desert of her perverted judgment, engendered in her very soul by
some terrible calamity through which she had personally passed, or
regarding which she had been a close observer. When she spoke again, it
was with low-toned softness, and she glided a step or two nearer to me,
raising her beautiful eyes, now softened to an appealing quality, and
clasping her hands in front of her with a gesture of suppliant
helplessness that was almost overwhelming.