You never heard how it all happened?'
'I never inquired,' answered Greifenstein. 'You say she ruined you. How
do you mean?'
'She made me do it. She was an enthusiast for liberty and revolution.
She filled my mind with ideas of the people's sovereignty. She talked
of nothing else. She besought me on her knees to join her party, as she
called it. She flattered me with dreams of greatness in a great
republic, she illuminated crime in the light of heroism, she pushed me
into secret societies, and laughed at me for my want of courage. I
loved her, and she made a fool of me, worse than a fool, a traitor,
worse than a traitor, a murderer, for she persuaded me to give the arms
to the mob, she made me an outlaw, an exile, an object of hatred to my
countrymen, a thing loathsome to all who knew me. And yet I loved her,
even when it was all over, and I would have given my soul to have her
with me.'
Greifenstein's face expressed unutterable contempt for this man, who in
the strength and pride of youth had laid down his honour for a woman's
word, not even for her love, since he had possessed that already.
'It seems to me,' he said, 'that there was one very simple remedy for
you.'
'A little lead in the right place. I know. And yet I lived, and I live
still. Why? I do not know. I believed in the revolution, though she had
forced the belief upon me, and I continued to believe in it until long
after I went to South America. And when I had ceased to believe in it,
no one cared whether I lived or died.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204