“It is not by standing still, Nicholas, or by indecision that you can preserve your country or avenge your honour,” she said. “Go to Domiloff. Hear what he has to say. Then ask yourself what is best for Theos.”
“Domiloff has the tongue of a fiend,” he answered, “or a serpent. I do not dare to trust myself with him. Russia would play us false in the end. Our freedom would be undermined. I myself should be a puppet, a doll, at the beck and call of a master. Oh, I know how these Russians treat an independent State if once their fingers are upon her throat.”
“You talk as though Theos were not already doomed,” she cried. “What hope have we as it is? Nicholas, have you ever thought what must happen when the Turks have crossed the frontier. You know their way—it is blood and fire and desolation. Have you considered the women and children, Nicholas?”
He groaned. The recollection of former raids was lurid and terrible enough. It was hard for him to see clearly. And his scabbard was empty.
“I will go to Domiloff,” he said at last, “I will hear what he has to say.”
CHAPTER XXXV
It was very dark, very stuffy, and a strong, malodorous suggestion of garlic pervaded the little café. The ordinary customers of the place preferred always the round tables outside, and very few passed through the worn swing doors which led to the gloomy interior. The two men who occupied one of the small partitions had the place to themselves.