"Whenever Bon Repos becomes Mal Repos," answered Platzoff,--"whenever a longing such as you speak of comes over me,--and it does come sometimes,--then I flee away for a few weeks, to London oftener than anywhere else--certainly not to Paris: that to me is forbidden ground. By-and-by I come back to my nest among the hills vowing there is no place like it in the world's wide round. But even when I am here, I am not so shut out from the world and its great interests as you seem to imagine. I see History enacting itself before my eyes, and I cannot sit by with averted face. I hear the grand chant of Liberty as the beautiful goddess comes nearer and nearer and smites down one Oppressor after another with her red right hand; and I cannot shut my ears. I have been an actor in the great drama of Revolution ever since, a lad of twelve, I saw my father borne off in chains to Siberia, and heard my mother with her dying breath curse the tyrant who had sent him there. Since that day, Conspiracy has been the very salt of my life. For it I have fought and bled; for it I have suffered hunger, thirst, imprisonment, and dangers unnumbered. Paris, Vienna, St. Petersburg, are all places that I can never hope to see again. For me to set foot in any one of the three would be to run the risk of almost certain detection, and in my case detection would mean hopeless incarceration for the poor remainder of my days. To the world at large I may seem nothing but a simple country gentleman, living a dull life in a spot remote from all stirring interests. But I may tell you, sir (in strictest confidence, mind) that although I stand a little aside from the noise and heat of the battle, I work for it with heart and brain as busily, and to better purpose let us hope, than when I was a much younger man. I am still a conspirator, and a conspirator I shall remain till Death taps me on the shoulder and serves me with his last great writ of _habeas corpus_." These words recurred to Ducie's memory a day or two later when he found at the dinner-table two foreigners whom he had never seen before. "Is it possible that these bearded gentlemen are also conspirators?" asked the captain of himself. "If so, their mode of life must be a very uncomfortable one. It never seems to include the use of a razor, and very sparingly that of comb and brush. I am glad that I have nothing to do with what Platzoff calls _The Great Cause_."