A strange impulse suddenly moved Emile to finger a loose strand with a
touch that had in it something of a caress.
Gamin she had been, _equestrienne_, heroine, and now she was only a
sorrowful Dolores.
At last words came.
She stood up and faced him, shaking back her hair.
"Emile! Emile! I must give it up. I can't go on!"
"And you can't turn back, _mon enfant_."
"I'll run away."
"Do you think they wouldn't find you? You know enough about our
organisation now. No one who has once joined us is ever allowed to
escape. You would be found sooner or later, and then--you remember
what I told you once? That I am responsible for you to the
Brotherhood?"
He spoke calmly, patiently, as if he were explaining things to a child.
If his associates could have seen the cynical Emile Poleski of ordinary
life they would have found reason to marvel!
The gesture of uncontrollable horror told him that she understood only
too well. What should the upholders of the Cause care for ties, for
friendships, for pity?
If she were recaptured Emile would be her executioner.
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