I was silent, not because I hesitated to answer her, not because I really at that moment had no answer to give her, but because I was, myself, intently thinking upon the very problem she had suggested.
"What shall be done?"
Presently, with a slow and methodical motion, she withdrew from me again, and returned to the divan, which had been the scene of our awakening love, calling upon me to follow her as she went; and I stood before her, looking down into her eyes up-turned to mine, waiting for her to speak. I knew that she had hit upon some solution of the difficulty, and was about to present it to me. I don't think that it occurred to me to consider seriously whatever she might suggest, even then, for I had not for a moment lost confidence in my entire ability to free both of us from the dangerous environment; but I delighted to hear the sound of her voice. I loved to drink in her words, as she uttered them. I was enthralled in watching the play of expression upon her features while she talked; if she had rendered me a dissertation upon any theme which absorbed her, my interest would have been the same; I was overwhelmed in love.
"There is only one way; only one," she said, unconsciously repeating words she had used once before.
"Yes?" I replied, mindful only of the fact that she had spoken; unmindful of the import of what she said.
"Only one way," Zara repeated. "You must join the nihilists. You must take the oath."
I shook my head with emphasis, brought back suddenly to the intent of her words.
"It is impossible, Zara," I said.
"You must do it, Dubravnik."
"No."