Truly he had done things, things that he would have given several years of life to undo.
Now he had that for which he craved,—the assurance that she cared, that she would miss him. Still he did not delude himself. He knew that what she felt towards him was not the love between a woman and her mate, but the affection of dependence, of habit. Yet for such as it was his soul uttered thanksgiving. Any other woman gifted with a less sweet nature would have felt for him nothing but hatred, but in Fatalité's mind neither spite nor malice ever found a place. The petty vices of womankind had never been hers. He knew now that he had been something to her, and that knowledge would make sunshine for him even in the shadow of a prison. It gave him courage also to play out the tragi-comedy to the end, to make a brave jest, to lie convincingly.
"We needn't make each other eternal adieux, mon enfant. You must not take all I said about Siberian dungeons au serieux. Russia isn't quite as dangerous as it's made out to be. Of course the police keep a watch more or less on the 'suspects,' but we know all their tricks, and how to avoid them. Plenty of us go to St. Petersburg and even to Kara and come back again. The Schlusselburg fortress is about the only place we haven't succeeded in getting out of yet. It's fairly easy to manage a false passport. You can write to me at the address I've given you."
* * * * * *
It was all over now, and he was alone. He had taken both her hands for an instant, and felt the convulsive clinging of the thin fingers. He had longed to kiss them, but dared not trust himself. His words were only such as might have been used by anyone of the Brotherhood.
"Au revoir, camarade!"
"Au revoir!"
Her tears were falling still, though she answered him steadily enough.
Then she turned away, pulling down her veil, and he saw her grope blindly for the fastening of the door. It shut gently behind her, and he was alone. He sat down by the table with its litter of books and newspapers, and stared dully round the room which her passing had left more hopeless and ugly than ever.
Life itself would be more fâde and ugly now. As well for him that after to-day he would have no time to sit and brood. It would be all stern reality soon, enough to cure him of lovesickness.