“If I did not know that you are a patriot according to your lights—if I did not know something of your story, and of those reasons that you do not give—I should take you by the throat and throw you out into the street for daring to make such a proposal to me,” he said, in a low voice.
“To a deserter from a Cossack regiment,” suggested the other.
“To me,” repeated Kosmaroff, touching himself on the breast and standing at his full height. No one spoke, as if the silent spell of History were again for a moment laid upon their tongues.
“Captain Cable,” said Kosmaroff, “you and I have met before, and I learned enough of you then to tell you now that this is no place for you, and these men no company for you. I am going—will you come?”
“I'm agreeable,” said Captain Cable, dusting his hat.
When they were out in the street, he turned to Kosmaroff and looked up into his face with bright and searching eyes.
“Who's that man?” he asked, as if there had been only one in the room.
“I do not know his name,” replied Kosmaroff.
They were standing on the doorstep. The dirty man had closed the door behind them, and, turning on his heel, Kosmaroff looked thoughtfully at the dusty woodwork of it. Half absent-mindedly he extended one finger and made a design on the door. It was not unlike a Greek cross.
“That is who he is,” he said.