Princess Zara

The princess paused and bent her head until it almost touched me. I

waited, wondering how it could be that the czar still lived. When death

was so near, within a few inches of his face, what could have saved

him?

"Hush!" she continued. "The end is not yet--not quite yet. You pulled

the trigger, but the charge in the pistol did not explode. That is what

you thought, when you leaped backward and raised the hammer for another

trial. But it was even worse than that, for there was no charge to

explode; the pistol was not loaded. Your poor mind, so overburdened,

had forgotten the most necessary thing of all, and you had not prepared

your weapon for the work it had to do. You discovered your error too

late; but the czar had discovered it also."

"He was bigger and stronger than you. With a bound he was upon you. He

seized the pistol and tore it from your grasp, and then, while he held

you--for you were still weak and he always was a giant--he struck you

with it, bringing it down again and again upon your unprotected head,

until your brains were battered out, and were spattered upon the floor,

the walls, and even the ceiling of the room. And then, when you were

quite dead, killed by the hand of the czar himself, when he for once in

his life was spattered with real blood, with blood that he had shed in

person and not by deputy, His Imperial Majesty staggered to the door,

called for assistance, and fainted."

Again she left me, this time crossing the room and throwing herself

upon a couch, where she cried softly, like one who has an incurable

sorrow which must at times break out in tears. After all, tears are the

safety valves of nervous expansion, and there are times when they save

the heart and the brain from bursting. I knew that, and I left her to

herself. But I also believed that she had not yet told me quite all;

that there must be a sequel to all this, and I was soon to hear it.

After watching her for a long time, I left my seat and went to her.

She raised her head from the pillow, and looked at me, and I have never

seen such a combination of emotions expressed in one glance, as there

was in her eyes at that instant. Love for me, sympathy for the fate of

the man whose story she had told, sorrow for that poor sister.

"There is more?" I asked.

"Very little more. I have not yet told you why I am a nihilist, and

that is what this story is for. Yvonne was my most intimate friend. I

loved her as I would have loved--no,--better than I could have loved a

sister. Her brother Stanislaus, was my betrothed. We were to have been

married within the year when Yvonne was taken away. Now you know all";

and she turned her head away again. I could see that she had dreaded

this confession.