"Dear Lange," she said. "He loves you, too. You are changed. You have come into the big magic of the revolution——"
"I am Varsieff's friend, first and last—his comrade."
"And mine," she whispered.
"The magic comes from standing between, Mlle. Mantone."
She smiled and bent toward me. She had been like a tall, white flower, but now for a second as she bent closer, it seemed to me that I saw a hint of Varsieff's gold flame on the other side—because we talked of him.
"What did he say?" she continued in a low whisper.
"He said to tell you that he and all your friends were busy, day and night, weaving and binding the Cause into one great fabric. He told me to tell you this—that the work of the Weavers will be given to the world in a day or two—possibly the day after to-morrow. I wish you could have seen Varsieff's face as he spoke to me this last. I remember his words exactly: 'Tell Paula all that I do is for her. That I read and write and dream and breathe through her heart—that she has taught me well to love and wait—that I love the world through her heart.'"
"Anything more?" she asked in a kind of agony.
"He told me to say that only you knew his weaknesses, so far——"
"I love them best," she answered. "A woman always holds a little tighter to the sweet human things of her child.... But he is a teacher, a leader. He must be clean and flawless.... If it were only for us—I should have him, weaknesses and all.... But he is to lead the clean peasants to their promised land——"