"
"It's a woman?"
Vardri bowed gravely. "Exactly, Monsieur. It's a woman."
"You are risking a great deal for her. Poleski has told me something
of your circumstances, and it appears that if you do not get some
appointment very soon, you will starve."
Vardri straightened himself, throwing back his head with a
characteristic gesture. He looked the older man in the eyes, his own
alight and eloquent under finely drawn brows.
"That's as it may be! I'll take my chance of work. In any case I
cannot leave Barcelona. Of course, I regret greatly that it is
impossible for me to fall in with your arrangements."
Vladimir smiled and shrugged. He knew the type with which he had to
deal. Quixotic and generous to the verge of folly, the type that will
sacrifice itself without reserve for an illusion, an ideal; the type
that filled monasteries, and Siberian prisons, and made a jest for half
the world. Such men were valuable to the Cause, because they gave
ungrudgingly, and never counted cost. The Russian was a man of
affairs, cautious, cynical and given to analysis, and he was also a
student of human nature.
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