“That is a proposition I will not entertain,” he answered.
“I will not do it!” I cried angrily.
“You will,” he replied quietly. “You have already impersonated the King. Have you considered the consequences? I say nothing about you. You are a brave man. But you have already compromised many honest men—and one dishonest old man. We are only half civilized. That is part of our charm—at least to you. The people would be very angry. You would be killed!”
“By Jove, you are a pleasant philosopher!”
“To a brave man that may mean little—life is a mere stake. But the honest men and the dishonest old man would die also. You could not have my death upon your conscience!”
“You deserve it, my General; you deserve it, on my honor!”
“Possibly.” He waved it aside resolutely as a matter of small consequence. “There is also Ertaria. Shall we grant that the Princess may not be happy? Then there is one woman unhappy and a nation free. Havensea, you do not understand the stake for which we play. It is not a crown, nor a woman’s heart, but a nation’s freedom. The heel of Russia bruises the very souls of men. Russia knouts a man’s soul. Where is Poland today? It is a great game to save a nation from that curse.”
The man of granite spoke soberly. There was no impassioned appeal. He spoke of facts. As a boy I knew something of this terror of Russia. This rugged, hard man was a hero. He played his life not for advancement, but for the good of his country. My heart warmed to him. And, as he said, there was also Ertaria.
“I shall go through with it, General,” I said at length. Our hands closed on that; in the winking light of a candle I saw his eyes glitter. He did not speak for a full minute. Then he muttered in a low voice, “If you were only a Borro!”