"Tiens!" he observed, "you are a lazy little trollop." Emile was proud of his English slang.
Finding there was no answer he changed his tone. "Hysterics, eh? They won't do here. Turn over, I want to talk to you."
The girl moved mechanically, and Emile surveyed her. There were slow tears forcing themselves under her heavy eyelids.
"I wish I were dead!"
"Probably you will be soon. So will the rest of us."
"What brutes you all are!"
"Because we don't care whether we die to-day or to-morrow? Souvent femme varie! Just now you seemed so anxious,—besides, if one belongs to the Cause one knows what to expect." Emile strolled towards the uncomfortable piece of furniture by the window, that purported to be an armchair, and sat down.
"I loathe the Cause! I didn't belong to it from choice. Why did you make me join?"
"Because I thought you would be useful. You are useful and probably will be more so."
"Suppose I refuse to do anything more?"