That, however, is my own story, and this"--he paused and
looked round the little room, furnished, decorated for her
comfort--"this is your story. We must forget that I am a man, and
therefore subject to the influence of your beauty."
She sat looking up into his strong, grave face, and during all that
followed she never moved.
"I know you," he said, "to be courageous, and must ask you to believe
that I exaggerate nothing in what I am about to tell you. I tell it to
you instead of leaving Paul to do so because I know his complete
fearlessness, and his blind faith in a people who are unworthy of it. He
does not realize the gravity of the situation. They are his own people.
A sailor never believes that his own ship is unseaworthy."
"Go on!" said Etta, for he had paused.
"This country," he continued, "is unsettled. The people of the estate
are on the brink of a revolt. You know what the Russian peasant is. It
will be no Parisian emeute, half noise, half laughter. We cannot hope to
hold this old place against them. We cannot get away from it. We cannot
send for help because we have no one to send. Princess, this is no time
for half-confidences. I know--for I know these people better even than
Paul knows them--I am convinced that this is not the outcome of their
own brains. They are being urged on by some one.
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