Kosmaroff moved impatiently.
“Is that all?” he exclaimed. “I have heard that talk for the last ten years. Have you brought me across Europe to talk of that?”
The Russian looked at him calmly, stroking his thin, black mustache, and waited till he had finished speaking.
“Yes—that is all I have to propose to you—but this time it is more than talk. You may take my word for that. This time we shall all succeed. But, of course, we want money, as usual. Ah! what a different world this would be if the poor could only be rich for one hour. We want five thousand roubles. I understand you have control of ten times that amount. If Poland will advance us five thousand roubles she shall have her opportunity—and a good one—in a month from now.”
He held up his hand to command silence, for Kosmaroff, with eyes that suddenly blazed in anger, had stepped forward to the table, and was about to interrupt. And Kosmaroff, who was not given to obedience, paused, he knew not why.
“Think,” said the other, in his smooth, even voice—“one month from now, after waiting twenty years. In a month you yourself may be in a very different position to that you now occupy. You commit yourselves to nothing. You do not even give ground for the conclusion that the Polish party ever for a moment approved of our methods. Our methods are our own affair, as are the risks we are content to run. We have our reasons, and we seek the approval of no man.”
There was a deadly coldness in the man's manner which seemed to vouch for the validity of those reasons which he did not submit to the judgment of any.
“Five thousand roubles,” he concluded. “And in exchange I give you the date—so that Poland may be ready.”
“Thank you,” said Kosmaroff, who had regained his composure as suddenly as he had lost it. “I decline—for myself and for the whole of Poland. We play a cleaner game than that.”
He turned and took up his hat, and his hand shook as he did it.