Besides the two women had never talked together
alone, and seldom even seen each other by daylight, for Pauline had
sought no one's company.
There was for her but one being in the world, and when she could not be
with the man she worshipped she was content to be with her thoughts and
dreams.
At first she had, like many another Russian woman, yearned to make an
oblation of herself in the service of her horror-ridden country, but
with the coming of love she had put aside all thoughts of vengeance.
The Cause was identified for her with the person of her lover. She
toiled willingly at it still, but from entirely different motives. His
interests were hers, and while he worked for the revolutionary party,
so also must she.
Pauline Souvaroff had loved much and given freely. All that she
possessed of beauty and charm, her whole body and soul she had laid at
the feet of the man at whose lightest word she flushed and paled, and
on whom she looked with soft, adoring eyes. She lived in dreams, a
life of drugged content in which there was neither past nor future.
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