“I am a restless character. If I could not be a nihilist—and I confess to you that my sympathy has, in a way, always been on that side—I would be a gendarme, and that would insure me against suspicion of any kind, and after my return I was looked at askance by my old friends who had known of my principles before I left the country. As a gendarme I was safe, but always felt myself a coward and hypocrite.
“My mother was furious, and was never reconciled to my position. But I know I have done some good to the poor, cowering wretches who have been arrested and sent to Siberia, where, if I had kept on my way, I might have gone.
“I could not marry while my mother lived. She would have made both myself and my wife unhappy. So I gave up thoughts of matrimony, but not thoughts of you.
“Years passed on, and I stood high in my calling as a detective. The day you came on the boat the authorities were expecting a famous anarchist, and I was sent to arrest him. He was not there, but you were, and I knew you in a moment, although you could not recognize me.
“When you confronted me with Nicol Patoff, my heart gave a bound, for I had not heard the name in years, and no one except my mother knew I had ever taken that name. I could not explain to you on the boat, and a sudden temptation came over me to mystify you, as I did, without dreaming you would take matters with so high a hand. I would explain later, I thought, but I began to enjoy the mystery, and I liked to hear what you had to say of Nicol Patoff, and your eager defense when you thought him in danger.”
“But you deceived me shamefully!” I said, indignantly; and he replied: “I know I did, and felt like a monster and liar, and still I never really lied but once, and then to save you, I told that Massachusetts friend of yours, whose tongue was like a mill wheel, that the lock of hair I had was black instead of red. You remember it?”
I bowed, and he went on: “I have no good excuse which you can fully understand. Several times I was on the point of declaring myself, but you always upset my plans. You told me you did not love Nicol, and that you could never live with him, or anyone else, in his house, or in Russia. If you did not care for him enough to live with him, I had no reason to think you would care for me.
“And, then, my mother was an obstacle in the way. She would never have received you, or treated you well. She disliked Americans on general principles. But she is dead, and I am free, so far as she is concerned. Providence has thrown you in my way three times. I believe there is luck in the third time, and I ask you now to be my wife.”
At first I could not speak. I did not like the thought of having been deceived so long, and of having expended so much sympathy on something which did not exist, and I said so, pretty hotly. He laughed, and, laying his hand on my head, said: “Your hair hasn’t lost all its red yet, has it?”
“No, and never will, where deceit is concerned. It was a wicked, foolish farce, and I don’t like it,” I said.