Said Jesse Blackless: “I think the man you need to talk with is Sazonov.” This was the former Foreign Minister of the Tsar, now in Paris, and the remark was, of course, a sneer.
“We don't have to go to any of the Whites,” replied Alston, patiently. “They come to us in droves. They tell us they will have nothing to do with assassins and bloody-handed murderers, and so on. They demand that we give them unlimited arms and money so that they can crush the Reds. That happens to be the idea of the military men, including some of the Americans, I am sorry to say. But fortunately it is the civil authorities who have the decision. Trust me, Mr. Blackless, and help me to get your point of view before the Council of Ten, right now while the subject is up for settlement.”
“You mean, it's your idea that the Bolsheviks shall come to Paris and sit down with the Whites?”
“Not in Paris — Clemenceau would never allow that. It would be somewhere close to Russia, and far from here.”
“You think the Whites would come?”
“I'll put it crudely, Mr. Blackless, as you seem to prefer. The Allies are the paymasters.”
Uncle Jesse smiled one of his crooked smiles. “And you imagine that we would give up to the Whites — is that it?”
“At a conference, Mr. Blackless, both sides have to give up something, unless the conference is to fail. But first there has to be a conference — that is the most difficult point.”
The painter considered for a while longer. Finally he said: “All right, Professor. I'll talk to some other persons, and let you hear from me in a few hours.”