“Your husband,” went on De Chauxville, after he had sufficiently enjoyed the savor of his own words, “is a brave man.  To frighten him it is necessary to resort to strong measures.  The last and the strongest measure in the diplomat’s scale is the People.  The People, madame, will take no denial.  It is a game I have played before—­a dangerous game, but I am not afraid.”

“You need not trouble to be theatrical with me,” put in Etta scornfully.  She was sitting with a patch of color in either cheek.  At times this man had the power of moving her, and she was afraid of allowing him to exercise it.  She knew her own weakness—­her inordinate vanity; for vanity is the weakness of strong women.  She was ever open to flattery, and Claude de Chauxville flattered her in every word he spoke; for by act and speech he made it manifest that she was the motive power of his existence.

“A man who plays for a high stake,” went on the Frenchman, in a quieter voice, “must be content to throw his all on the table time after time.  A week to-night—­Thursday, the 5th of April—­I will throw down my all on the turn of a card.  For the People are like that.  It is rouge or noir—­one never knows.  We only know that there is no third color, no compromise.”

Etta was listening now with ill-disguised interest.  At last he had given her something definite—­a date.

“On Thursday,” he went on, “the peasants will make a demonstration.  You know as well as I do—­as well as Prince Pavlo does, despite his imperturbable face—­that the whole country is a volcano which may break forth at any moment.  But the control is strong, and therefore there is never a large eruption—­a grumble here, a gleam of fire there, a sullen heat everywhere!  But it is held in check by the impossibility of communication.  It seems strange, but Russia stands because she has no penny postage.  The great crash will come, not by force of arms, but by ways of peace.  The signal will be a postal system, the standard of the revolution will be a postage-stamp.  All over this country there are millions waiting and burning to rise up and crush despotism, but they are held in check by the simple fact that they are far apart and they cannot write to each other.  When, at last, they are brought together, there will be no fight at all, because they will overwhelm their enemies.  That time, madame, has not come yet.  We are only at the stage of tentative underground rumblings.  But a little eruption is enough to wipe out one man if he be standing on the spot.”

“Go on,” said Etta quietly—­too quietly, De Chauxville might have thought, had he been calmer.

“I want you,” he went on, “to assist me.  We shall be ready on Thursday.  I shall not appear in the matter at all; I have strong colleagues at my back.  Starvation and misery, properly handled, are strong incentives.”

“And how do you propose to handle them?” asked Etta in the same quiet voice.