now。　　Tears　did　not　seem　to　afford　relief　when　one　shed　them　into
  handkerchiefs　and　pillows。　　But　on　that　gentle　bosom；　to　let
  loose　this　brimming　flood；　to　hear　the　tender　voice　consoling！
  〃Oh；　I　say；　now！　　Please！〃　she　heard　Johnny　Two…Hawks　cry　out。
  But　she　rushed　on　blindly；　knocking　against　the　door　jamb　and　almost
  upsetting　the　nurse；　who　was　returning。　　Somehow　she　managed　to
  reach　the　living　room；　glad　it　was　dark。　　Alter　sundry　reaching　about
  she　found　the　divan　and　flung　herself　upon　it。　　What　would　he　think？
  What　would　the　nurse　think？　　That　Kitty　Conover　had　suddenly　gone
  stark；　raving　crazy！　　And　now　that　she　was　in　the　dark；　alone；　the
  desire　to　weep　passed　over　and　she　lay　quietly　with　her　face　buried
  in　the　pillow。　　But　not　for　long。
  She　sat　up。　　Music　…　violin　music！　　A　gay　waltz　that　made　her　think
  of　flashing　water；　the　laughter　of　children。　　Tschaikowsky。　　Thrilled；
  she　waited　for　the　finale。　　Silence。　　Scharwenka's　〃Polish　Dance；〃
  with　a　swing　and　a　fire　beyond　anything　she　had　ever　heard　before。
  Another　stretch　of　silence　…　a　silence　full　of　interrogation　points。
  Then　a　tender　little　sketch；　quite　unfamiliar。　　But　all　at　once　she
  understood。　　He　was　imploring　her　to　return。　　She　smiled　in　the　dark；
  but　she　knew　she　was　going　to　remain　right　where　she　was。
  〃Miss　Conover？〃　It　was　the　voice　of　the　nurse。
  〃Yes。　　I'm　over　here　on　the　divan。〃
  〃Anything　wrong？〃
  〃Good　gracious；　no！　　I'm　overtired。　　A　little　hysterical；　maybe。
  The　parade　to…day；　with　all　those　wounded　boys　in　automobiles；　the
  music　and　colour　and　excitement　…　have　rather　done　me　up。　　And　the
  way　I　rushed　up　here。　　And　not　finding　Cutty　〃
  〃Anything　I　can　get　for　you？〃
  〃No；　thanks。　　I'll　try　to　snatch　a　little　sleep　before　Cutty　returns。〃
  〃But　he　may　be　gone　all　night！〃
  〃Will　it　be　so　very　scandalous　if　I　stay　here？〃
  〃You　poor　child！　　Go　ahead　and　sleep。　　Don't　hesitate　to　call　me　if
  you　want　anything。　　I　have　a　mild　sedative　if　you　would　like　it。〃
  〃No；　thanks。　　I　did　not　know　that　Mr。　Hawksley　played。〃
  〃Wonderfully！　　But　does　it　bother　you？〃
  〃It　kind　of　makes　me　choky。〃
  〃I'll　tell　him。〃
  Kitty；　now　strangely　at　peace；　snuggled　down　among　the　pillows。
  Some　great　Polish　violinist；　who　had　roused　the　bitter　enmity　of
  the　anarchist？　　But　no；　he　was　Russian。　　Cutty　had　admitted　that。
  It　struck　her　that　Cutty　knew　a　great　deal　more　than　Kitty　Conover；
  and　so　far　as　she　could　see　there　was　no　apparent　reason　for　this
  secrecy。　　She　rather　believed　she　had　Cutty。　　Either　he　should　tell
  her　everything　or　she　would　run　loose；　Bolshevik　or　no　Bolshevik。
  Sheep。　　She　boosted　one　over　the　bars；　another　and　another。　　Round
  somewhere　in　the　thirties　the　bars　dissolved。　　The　next　thing　she
  knew　she　was　blinking　in　the　light；　Cutty；　his　arms　folded；　staring
  down　at　her　sombrely。　　There　was　blood　on　his　face　and　blood　on　his
  hands。
  CHAPTER　XX
  Karlov　moodily　touched　the　shoulder　of　the　man　on　the　cot。　　Stefani
  Gregor　puzzled　him。　　He　came　to　this　room　more　often　than　was　wise；
  driven　by　a　curiosity　born　of　a　cynical　philosophy　to　discover　what
  it　was　that　reenforced　this　fragile　body　against　threats　and　thirst
  and　hunger。　　He　knew　what　he　wanted　of　Gregor　…　the　fiddler　on　his
  knees　begging　for　mercy。　　And　always　Gregor　faced　him　with　that
  silent　calm　which　reminded　him　of　the　sea；　aloof；　impervious；
  exasperating。　　Only　once　since　the　day　he　had　been　locked　in　this
  room　had　Gregor　offered　speech。　　He；　Karlov；　had　roared　at　him；
  threatened；　baited；　but　his　reward　generally　had　been　a　twisted
  wintry　smile。
  He　could　not　offer　physical　torture　beyond　the　frequent　omissions
  of　food　and　water；　the　body　would　have　crumbled。　　To　have　planned
  this　for　months；　and　then　to　be　balked　by　something　as　visible　yet
  as　elusive　as　quicksilver！　　Born　in　the　same　mudhole；　and　still
  Boris　Karlov　the　avenger　could　not　understand　Stefani　Gregor　the
  fiddler。　　Perhaps　what　baffled　him　was　that　so　valiant　a　spirit
  should　be　housed　in　so　weak　a　body。　　It　was　natural　that　he；　Boris；
  with　the　body　of　a　Carpathian　bear；　should　have　a　soul　to　match。
  But　that　Stefani；　with　his　paper　body；　should　mock　him！　　The
  damned　bourgeoisie！
  The　quality　of　this　unending　calm　was　understandable：　Gregor　was
  always　ready　to　die。　　What　to　do　with　a　man　to　whom　death　was
  release？　　To　hold　the　knout　and　to　see　it　turn　to　water　in　the
  hand！　　In　lying　he　had　overreached。　　Gregor；　having　accepted　as
  fact　the　reported　death　of　Ivan；　had　nothing　to　live　for。　　Having
  brought　Gregor　here　to　torture　he　had；　blind　fool；　taken　away　the
  fiddler's　ability　to　feel。　　The　fog　cleared。　　He　himself　had　given
  his　enemy　this　mysterious　calm。　　He　had　taken　out　Gregor's　soul　and
  dissipated　it。
  No。　　Not　quite　dissipated。　　What　held　the　body　together　was　the　iron
  residue　of　the　soul。　　Venom　and　blood　clogged　Karlov's　throat。　　He
  could　kill　only　the　body；　as　he　had　killed　the　fiddle；　he　could　not
  reach　the　mystery　within。　　Ah；　but　he　had　wrung　Stefani's　heart　there。
  There　were　pieces　of　the　fiddle　on　the　table　where　Gregor　had　placed
  them；　doubtless　to　weep　over　when　he　was　alone。　　Why　hadn't　he
  thought　to　break　the　fiddle　a　little　each　day？
  〃Stefani　Gregor；　sit　up。　　I　have　come　to　talk。〃　　This　was　formula。
  Karlov　did　not　expect　speech　from　Gregor。
  Slowly　the　thin　arms　bore　up　the　torso；　slowly　the　legs　swung　to　the
  floor。　　But　the　little　gray　man's　eyes　were　bright　and　quick　to…night。
  〃Boris；　what　is　it　you　want？〃
  〃To　talk〃　…　surprised　at　this　unexpected　outburst。
  〃No；　no。　　I　mean；　what　is　it　all　about　…　these　killings；　these
  burnings？〃
  Karlov　was　ready　at　all　times　to　expound　the　theories　that　appealed
  to　his　dark　yet　simple　mind　…　humanity　overturned　as　one　overturned
  the　sod　in　the　springtime　to　give　it　new　life。
  〃To　give　the　proletariat　what　is　his。〃
  〃Ha！〃　said　the　little　man　on　the　cot。　　〃What　is　his？〃
  〃That　which　capitalism　has　taken　away　from　him。〃
  〃The　proletariat。　　The　lowest　in　the　human　scale　…　and　therefore
  the　most　helpless。　　They　shall　rule；　say　you。　　My　poor　Russia！
  Beaten　and　robbed　for　centuries；　and　now　betrayed　by　a　handful　of
  madmen　…　with　brains　atrophied　on　one　side！　　You　are　a　fool；　Boris。
  Your　feet　are　in　strange　quicksands　and　your　head　among　chimeras。
  You　write　some　words　on　a　piece　of　paper；　and　lo！　　you　say　they　are
  facts。　　Without　first　proving　your　theories　correct　you　would　ram
  them　down　the　throat　of　the　world。　　The　world　rejects　you。〃
  〃Wait　and　see；　damned　bourgeoisie！〃　thundered　Karlov；　not　alive　to
  the　fact　that　he　was　being　baited。
  〃Bourgeoisie？　　Yes；　I　am　of　the　middle　class；　the　rogue　on　top　and
  the　fool　below。　　I　see。　　The　rogue　and　the　fool　cannot　combine
  unless　the　bourgeoisie　is　obliterated。　　Go　on。　　I　am　interested。〃
  〃Under　the　soviet　the　government　shall　be　everything。〃
  〃As　it　was　in　Prussia。〃
  Karlov　ignored　this。　　〃The　individual　shall　never　again　become　rich
  by　exploiting　the　poor。〃
  Karlov　strove　to　speak　calmly。　　Gregor's　willingness　to　discuss　the
  aims　of　the　proletariat　confused　him。　　He　suspected　some　ulterior
  purpose　behind　this　apparent　amiability。　　He　must　hold　down　his　fury
  until　this　purpose　was　in　the　open。
  〃Well；　that　is　good；〃　Gregor　admitted。　　〃But　somehow　it　sounds
  ancient　on　my　ear。　　Was　there　not　a　revolution　in　France？〃
  〃Fool；　it　is　the　world　that　is　revolting！〃　Karlov　paused。　　〃And　no
  man　in　the　future　shall　see　his　sister　or　his　daughter　made　into　a
  loose　woman　without　redress。〃
  〃Your　proletariat's　sister　and　daughter。　　But　the　daughter　of　the
  noble　and　the　daughter　of　the
  bourgeoisie　…　fair　game！〃
  Sometimes　there　enters　a　man's　head　what　might　be　called　a　sick　idea；
  when　the　vitality　is　at　low　ebb　and　the　future　holds　nothing。　　Thus
  there　was　a　grim　and　sick　idea　behind　Gregor's　gibes。　　It　was　in　his
  mind　to　die。　　All　the　things　he　had　loved　had　been　destroyed。　　So
  then；　to　goad　this　madman　into　a　physical　frenzy。　　Once　those
  gorilla…like　hands　reached　out　for　him　Stefani　Gregor's　neck　would
  break。
  〃Be　still；　fiddler！　　You　know　what　I　mean。　　There　will　be　no　upper
  class；　which　is　idleness　and　wastefulness；　no　middle　class；　the
  usurers；　the　gamblers　of　necessities；　the　war　makers。　　One　great
  body　of　equals　shall　issue　forth。　　All　shall　labour。〃
  〃For　what？〃
  〃The　common　good。〃
  〃Your　Lenine　offered　peace；　bread；　and　work　for　the　overthrow　of
  Kerensky。　　What　you　have　given　…　murder　and　famine　and　idleness。　　Can
  there　be　common　good　that　is　based　upon　the　blood　of　innocents？　　Did
  Ivan　ever　harm　a　soul？　　Have　I？〃
  〃You！〃　Karlov　trembled。　　〃You　…　with　your　damned　green　stones！　　Did
  you　not　lure　Anna　to　dishonour　with　the　promise　to　show　her　the
  drums；　the　sight　of　which　would　make　all　her　dreams　come　true？　　A
  child；　with　a　fairy　story　in　her　head！〃
  〃You　speak　of　Anna！　　If　you　hadn't　been　spouting　your　twaddle　in
  taverns　you　would　have　had　time　to　instruct　Anna　against
  guilelessness　and　superstition。〃
  〃How　much　did　they　pay　you？　　Did　you　fiddle　for　her　to　dance？　。。。　But
  I　left　their　faces　in　the　mud！〃
  A　madman；　with　two　obsessions。　　A　pitiable　Samson　with　his　arms　round
  the　pillars　of　society　to　drag　it　down　upon　his　head　because　society