"That pa.s.sivism is perversion does not surprise me," remarked Barres.

"Well," she said, "the pacifist is not conscious of his real desires and therefore cannot be termed a true pervert. But the very term, pa.s.sivism, is usually significant and goes very deep psychologically. In a.n.a.lysing my patients I struck against a buried impulse in them to suffer tyrannous treatment from an omnipotent master. The impulse was so strong that it amounted to a craving and tried to absorb all the psychic material within its reach. They did not recognise the original impulse, because that had long ago been crushed down by the exactions of civilised life. Nevertheless, they were tortured and teased, made unsettled and wretched by a something which continually baffled them. Deep under the upper crust of their personalities was concealed a seething desire to be completely, inevitably, relentlessly, unreservedly overwhelmed by a subjugation from which there was no escape."

She turned to Westmore:

"It's purely pathological, the condition of those two self-confessed pacifists. The pacifist loves suffering. The ordinary normal person avoids suffering when possible. He endures it only when something necessary or desirable cannot be gained in any other way. He may undergo agony at the mere thought of it. His bravery consists in facing danger and pain in spite of fear. But the extreme pa.s.sivist, who is really an unconscious pervert, loves to dream of martyrdom and suffering. It must be a suffering, however, which is forced upon him, and it must be a personal matter, not impersonal and general, as in war. And he loves to contemplate a condition of complete captivity--of irresponsible pa.s.sivity, in which all resistance is in vain."

"Do you know, they disgust me, those two!" said Westmore angrily. "I never could endure anything abnormal. And now that I know Esme is--and that big lout, Mandel--I'll keep away from them. Do you blame me, doctor?"

"Well," she said, much amused and turning to go, "they're very interesting to physicians, you know--these non-resisting, pacifistic perverts. But outside a sanatorium I shouldn't expect them to be very popular." And she laughed and joined a big, good-looking man who had come to seek her, and who wore, in his b.u.t.tonhole, the b.u.t.ton of the French Legion of Honour.

Thessalie had strolled forward along the terrace by herself, interested in the pretty spectacle and the play of light on jewels and gowns.

Westmore, busy in expressing to Barres his opinion of Esme and Mandel, did not at the moment miss Thessalie, who continued to saunter on along the bal.u.s.trade of the terrace, under the blossoming row of orange trees.

Just below her was another terrace and an oval pool set with tiny jets which seemed to spray the basin with liquid silver. Silvery fish, too, were swimming in it near the surface, sometimes flinging themselves clear out of water as though intoxicated by the unwonted l.u.s.tre which flooded their crystal pool.

To see them nearer, Thessalie ran lightly down the steps and walked toward the shimmering basin. And at the same time the head and shoulders of a man in evening dress, his bosom crossed by a sash of watered red silk, appeared climbing nimbly from a still lower level.

She watched him step swiftly upon the terrace and cross it diagonally, walking in her direction toward the stone stairs which she had just descended. Then, paying him no further attention, she looked down into the water.

He came along very near to where she stood, gazing into the pool--peered at her curiously--was already pa.s.sing at her very elbow--when something made her lift her head and look around at him.

The mock moonlight struck full across his features; and the shock of seeing him drove every vestige of colour from her own face.

The man halted, staring at her in unfeigned amazement. Suddenly he snarled at her, baring his teeth in her shrinking face.

"_Kismet dir!_" he whispered, "it ees _you_!... Nihla Quellen!

_Now_ I begin onderstan'!... Yas, I now onderstan' who arrange it that they haf arrest my good frien', Tauscher! It ees _you_, then!

Von Igel he has tol' me, look out once eef she escape--thees yoong leopardess----"

"Ferez!" Thessalie's young figure stiffened and the colour flamed in her cheeks.

"You leopardess!" he repeated, every tooth a-grin again with rage, "you misbegotten s.l.u.t of a hunting cheetah! So thees is 'ow you strike!... Ver' well. Yas, I see 'ow it ees you strike at----"

"Ferez!" she cried. "Listen to _me_!"

"I 'ear you! Allez!"

"Ferez Bey! I am not afraid of you!"

"Ees it so?"

"Yes, it is so. I _never_ have been afraid of you! Not even there on the deck of the _Mirage_, that night when you tapped the hilt of your Kurdish knife and spoke of Seraglio Point! Nor when your scared spy shot at me in the corridor of the Tenth Street house; nor afterward at Dragon Court! Nor now! Do you understand, Eurasian jackal! Nor _now_!

Anybody can see what _Heruli_ whelped you! What are you doing in America? Ka.s.sim Pasha is your den, where your _rayah_ loll and scratch in the sun! It is their _Keyeff_! And yours!"

She took a quick step toward him, her eyes flashing, her white hand clenched:

"_Allah Kerim_--do you say? _El Hamdu Lillah!_ Do you take yourself for the _muezzin_ of all jackals, then, howling blasphemies from some _minaret_ in the hills? Do you understand what they'd do to you in the _Hirka-i-Sherif Jamesi_? Because you are _nothing_; do you hear?--nothing but an Eurasian a.s.sa.s.sin! And Moslem and Christian alike know where _you_ belong among the lost pariahs of Stamboul!"

The girl was utterly transfigured. Whatever of the Orient was in her, now blazed white hot.

"What have I done to you, Ferez? What have I ever done to you that you, even from my childhood, come always stepping noiselessly at my skirt's edge?--always padding behind me at my heels, silent, sinister, whimpering with bared teeth for the courage to bite which G.o.d denies you!"

The man stood almost motionless, moistening his dry lips with his tongue, but his eyes moved continually, stealing uneasy glances around him and upward, where, on the main terrace above them, the heads of the throng pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed.

"Nihla," he said, "for all thees scorn and abuse of me, you know, in the false heart of you, why it ees so if I have seek you."

"You dealer in lies! You would have sold me to d'Eblis! You thought you _had_ sold me! You were paid for it, too!"

"An' still!" He looked at her furtively.

"What do you mean? You conspired with d'Eblis to ruin me, soul and body! You involved me in your treacherous propaganda in Paris. Through you I am an exile. If I go back to my own country, I shall go to a shameful death. You have blackened my honour in my country's eyes. But that was not enough. No! You thought me sufficiently broken, degraded, terrified to listen to any proposition from you. You sent your agents to me with offers of money if I would betray my country. Finding I would not, you whined and threatened. Then, like the Eurasian dog you are, you tried to bargain. You were eager to offer me anything if I would keep quiet and not interfere----"

"Nihla!"

"What?" she said, contemptuously.

"In spite of thees--of all you say--I have love you!"

"Liar!" she retorted wrathfully. "Do you dare say that to me, whom you have already tried to murder?"

"I say it. Yas. Eef it has not been so then you were dead long time."

"You--you are trying to tell me that you spared me!" she demanded scornfully.

"It ees so. Alexandre--d'Eblis, you know?--long time since he would have safety for us all--thees way. Non! Je ne pourrais pas vouz tuer, moi! It ees not in my heart, Nihla.... Because I have love you long time--ver' long time."

"Because you have _feared_ me long time, ver' long time!" she mocked him. "That is why, Ferez--because you are afraid; because you are only a jackal. And jackals never kill. No!"

"You say thees-a to me, Nihla?"

"Yes, I say it. You're a coward! And I'll tell you something more. I am going to make a complete statement to the French Government. I shall relate everything I know about d'Eblis, Bolo Effendi, a certain bureaucrat, an Italian politician, a Swiss banker, old Von-der-Goltz Pasha, Heimholz, Von-der-Hohe Pasha, and you, my Ferez--and you, also!

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE CAME TOWARD HER STEALTHILY]

"Do you know what France will do to d'Eblis and his scoundrel friends?

Do you guess what these duped Americans will do to Bolo Effendi? And to you? And to Von Papen and Boy-ed and Von Igel--yes, and to Bernstorff and his whole murderous herd of Germans? And can you imagine what my own doubly duped Government will surely, surely do, some day, to you, Ferez?"

She laughed, but her dark eyes fairly glittered:

"_My_ martyrdom is ending, G.o.d be thanked! And then I shall be free to serve where my heart is ... in Alsace!... Alsace!--forever French!"

In the white light she saw the sweat break out on the man's forehead--saw him grope for his handkerchief--and draw out a knife instead--never taking his eyes off her.

She turned to run; but he had already blocked the way to the stone steps; and now he came creeping toward her, white as a cadaver, distracted from sheer terror, and rubbing the knife flat against his thigh.

"So you shall do thees--a filth to me--eh, Nihla?" he whispered with blanched lips. "It ees on me, your frien', you spring to keel me, eh, my leopardess? Ver' well. But firs' I teach you somethings you don'

know!--thees-a way, my Nihla!"