“Ah!” He laid down his cigar and looked steadily at Martini. “Yes,” he said at last, slowly and softly. “I am in love with her. But you needn't think I am going to make love to her, or worry about it. I am only going to----” His voice died away in a strange, faint whisper. Martini came a step nearer. “Only going--to----” “To die.” He was staring straight before him with a cold, fixed look, as if he were dead already. When he spoke again his voice was curiously lifeless and even. “You needn't worry her about it beforehand,” he said; “but there's not the ghost of a chance for me. It's dangerous for everyone; that she knows as well as I do; but the smugglers will do their best to prevent her getting taken. They are good fellows, though they are a bit rough. As for me, the rope is round my neck, and when I cross the frontier I pull the noose.” “Rivarez, what do you mean? Of course it's dangerous, and particularly so for you; I understand that; but you have often crossed the frontier before and always been successful.” “Yes, and this time I shall fail.” “But why? How can you know?” The Gadfly smiled drearily. “Do you remember the German legend of the man that died when he met his own Double? No? It appeared to him at night in a lonely place, wringing its hands in despair. Well, I met mine the last time I was in the hills; and when I cross the frontier again I shan't come back.” Martini came up to him and put a hand on the back of his chair. “Listen, Rivarez; I don't understand a word of all this metaphysical stuff, but I do understand one thing: If you feel about it that way, you are not in a fit state to go. The surest way to get taken is to go with a conviction that you will be taken. You must be ill, or out of sorts somehow, to get maggots of that kind into your head. Suppose I go instead of you? I can do any practical work there is to be done, and you can send a message to your men, explaining------” “And let you get killed instead? That would be very clever.” “Oh, I'm not likely to get killed! They don't know me as they do you. And, besides, even if I did------” He stopped, and the Gadfly looked up with a slow, inquiring gaze. Martini's hand dropped by his side. “She very likely wouldn't miss me as much as she would you,” he said in his most matter-of-fact voice. “And then, besides, Rivarez, this is public business, and we have to look at it from the point of view of utility--the greatest good of the greatest number. Your 'final value'---isn't that what the economists call it?--is higher than mine; I have brains enough to see that, though I haven't any cause to be particularly fond of you. You are a bigger man than I am; I'm not sure that you are a better one, but there's more of you, and your death would be a greater loss than mine.” From the way he spoke he might have been discussing the value of shares on the Exchange. The Gadfly looked up, shivering as if with cold.