For Love of a Woman

I had discovered at a glance that the spy was not a Russian; and that
being the case he was presumably engaged in his present occupation for
pay only, and I believed that I could turn what seemed to be a
catastrophe into a decided advantage. Experience had taught me long ago
that the Russian nihilist is a fanatic who possesses distorted ideas of
patriotism upon which he builds a theory of government, and that
nothing short of death can turn him from his purpose. But with the
foreigners who ally themselves with the fortunes of the
nihilists--Germans, Frenchmen, Italians, etc.--it is different. They
are always open to argument--for pay--although they are hardly to be
relied upon even then, for they will sell out to another with the same
celerity with which they formerly disposed of themselves to you.

"You are a Frenchman, are you not?" I asked this man, as soon as we
were alone together.

"Yes," he replied, reluctantly.

"Do you know what is in store for you now?"

"Siberia, or death; one is as bad as the other. I'm only sorry that I
did not have a chance to use my knife before you struck me; that's
all."

"I have not a doubt of it. And yet you may escape both, Siberia and
death, if you are reasonable."

"How? I'll be reasonable fast enough if you can prove that to me."

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes; as well as I do French, and Russian, and German, and half a dozen
other languages."