“One can amuse oneself better here, that is true,” Selden agreed, searching for a clue to her emotion. “But weren’t you interested in seeing how Jeneski’s experiment works out?”
“Jeneski!” she repeated hoarsely. “Ah, you do not know him! He is not a man—he is a machine which crushes people who get in his way. He....”
She stopped abruptly, struggling for self-control.
“Yes,” said Selden, “I suppose all fanatics are more or less like that.”
“I have known some who were human,” said the countess more quietly, and closed her lips tightly, as though determined to say no more.
Selden could only ponder what she meant. How had she got in his way? What had he done to her? To him Jeneski had seemed very human—possessed by his idea, of course, ready to make for it any sacrifice; but full of fire, of sympathy, of understanding. Full of passion, too, unless his full red lips belied him.
“However,” the countess was saying, “we need not concern ourselves about Jeneski. He will soon be replaced.”
“I am not so sure of it.”
“Baron Lappo is sure of it. I do not think you understand, Mr. Selden, what an extraordinary man the baron is. Nothing is concealed from him. He is in his way a great artist.”
“I hope to know him better,” Selden observed.