ns of
leaving him stranded in Barcelona at the age of forty, without hopes,
illusions or ideals. His estates in Russia had been confiscated, his
parents were dead, the woman he had loved was married.

Now he lived in a dirty back street, in a single room, on two pounds a
week, morbid, suspicious, cynical, keeping his own counsel, owning no
friends, and occupying body and brain with plots, secret meetings,
ciphers and the usual accompaniments of intrigue. The Brotherhood
consisted of fifteen men, though occasionally the number varied. Two
or three would disappear, another one come. There was no feminine
element. An Anarchist seldom marries. To him a woman is either a
machine or the lightest of light episodes.

Emile had not the least desire to make love to the girl whom he had for
his own purposes befriended. He was a quick and subtle judge of
character, and had seen at a glance that in her he would find a study
of pronounced interest. Also she might prove of some utility. It was
one of the tenets of the fraternity to which he belonged never to waste
any material that might come to hand. In the finely-cut face before
him, with its Oriental modelling and impassivity, he read brains,
refinement and endurance. Her hair was plaited in two long braids, and
drawn down over her ears, showing the contour of a sleek, smooth little
head.

She had relapsed into silence after disposing of the slovenly meal he
had induced the landlady to provide. The only thing that seemed to
worry her was the superfluous dirt that adorned the cups.

At length she spoke:

"And what sort of a place is this Barcelona?"

"_L'entresol de l'enfer_," answered Emile curtly. "What are your
people doing to allow you to come here alone?"

"They don't know I am here. I ran away, you see. If I get on well,
I'll write and let them know, and if not--"

"_Alors_?"

"Oh, I don't know. But I will get on. Don't you think I ought to make
a success at the Hippodrome?"

Emile ignored the _naive_ conceit of the last remark. "But what are
you doing at the Hippodrome at all?" he demanded.

"I am riding," she answered with an elfish smile in which her eyes took
no part.

"Obviously! What are you going to do about _dejeuner_? The landlady
won't bring you up all your meals."

"I don't know," was the unconcerned answer.

"You'll have to go to one of the _cafes_, and you had better let me
show you which are the most desirable ones. _Enfin_