“‘But what is this work you speak of?’ “‘Whatever it is,’ he returned, ‘you may be sure it is in the interest of our race.’ “‘But you speak of _comitajia_,’ I said. ‘Has not that word more than one significance? I know the military scouts with bombs are _comitajia_, but are not revolutionists called by the same term?’ “Gavrilo showed his strong white teeth in one of those extraordinary mischievous smiles which now and then illuminated his face. Instead of giving me a direct answer he said: “‘Dear friend, I am glad to perceive that your knowledge of our beloved Serbian tongue becomes daily more accurate.’ “‘But, Gavrilo,’ I protested, refusing to be put off with a jest, ‘to be concerned in a revolution would be the worst thing that could happen to you.’ “‘No, not the worst thing. Worse than being a Serb and joining in a revolution would be to be a Serb and fail to lift a hand in the struggle for freedom.’ “‘Revolutions,’ I said, sententiously, ‘do not pay, Gavrilo.’ “‘But since when has that been so?’ he countered quickly. ‘There was, for instance, the French Revolution. Did not that pay? And there was the American Revolution. Surely that paid! And there was the revolution of Serbia against the Turks. That is paying too.’ His luminous black eyes, so like those of a wild deer, snapped as he spoke. Then his expression changed quickly to one of amusement over my discomfiture, and he added with a little laugh: ‘I have an American friend—a gentleman who manages the business of a large oil company over here. He can tell you, as he has me, of the benefits of the American Revolution and of American freedom. I promise you that some day you shall meet him face to face—let us say to-morrow morning when he is shaving.’ “It seemed to me that I had taken an unfortunate line with him there, so I tried another. “‘Well, then, let us put it on selfish grounds. There is no great reason why you, personally, should be dissatisfied. You have good prospects in your father’s business. The thing for you to do, in the natural course, is to marry and settle down. And certainly a man who has a sweetheart such as yours hasn’t any business in a _comitajia_; for such things lead to prisons and executions, not to domesticity.’ “‘What makes you think I have a sweetheart?’ he demanded, flushing. “‘Haven’t I seen Mara?’ “‘Well, what of it?’ “‘If you can resist Mara,’ I told him, ‘you have more strength than I would give you credit for.’ And it was quite true; for Mara, who lived next door to the hotel, was a beautiful young thing, and they were much together. “‘Mara is a flirt,’ said he. “‘What matter,’ I returned, ‘so long as she flirts most with you?’ “‘But does she like me best?’ he mused. ‘There is this fellow in the Government railways who comes as often as he can to see her. He has the advantage of being a connection by marriage, and is very handsome. Really too handsome for a man. I am glad he does not live here all the time.’