"I'm no Priest----" he laughed.
"Call yourself what you like, then," she cried. "It does not matter. But think, Monsieur, of what I am telling you. An opportunity--power, international leadership, and a goal,--the freedom of Europe! Oh, is not that a career worthy of the ambition of any man on the earth! And you quibble at the sound of a name!"
Her tone was almost contemptuous. She had walked to the window and stood there trembling--he paused a moment and then walked over to her.
"I haven't denied you, Mademoiselle. I've merely refused to believe in the supernatural. Call my presence here a coincidence, the death of Kirylo Ivanitch by its true name, an act of involuntary man-slaughter and I will do whatever you like--if I can serve France better here than on the battle-line."
She flashed around on him and clasped his hand.
"You mean it?"
"I do. If I can help you here, I will act whatever part you please."
"At once? There is no time to lose."
"I shall obey you."
"No. It is I who must obey you--and they--Picard, Issad, Stepan, Margot--but more than these--Shestov, Madame Rochal, Signorina Colodna, and Liederman----"