smile enigmatically into his black beard, and was very sparing with his
words so as to shorten the interview. But Argensola possessed the means
of winning over this sullen personage. It was only necessary for him
to wink one eye with the expressive invitation, "Do we go?" and the two
would soon be settled on a bench in the kitchen of Desnoyers' studio,
opposite a bottle which had come from the avenue Victor Hugo. The costly
wines of Don Marcelo made the Russian more communicative, although, in
spite of this aid, the Spaniard learned little of his neighbor's real
existence. Sometimes he would mention Jaures and other socialistic
orators. His surest means of existence was the translation of
periodicals or party papers. On various occasions the name of Siberia
escaped from his lips, and he admitted that he had been there a long
time; but he did not care to talk about a country visited against his
will. He would merely smile modestly, showing plainly that he did not
wish to make any further revelations.

The morning after the return of Julio Desnoyers, while Argensola was
talking on the stairway with Tchernoff, the bell rang. How annoying! The
Russian, who was well up in advanced politics, was just explaining the
plans advanced by Jaures. There were still many who hoped that war might
be averted. He had his motives for doubting it. . . . He, Tchernoff, was
commenting on these illusions with the smile of a flat-nosed sphinx when
the bell rang for a second time, so that Argensola was obliged to break
away from his interesting friend, and run to open the main door.

A gentleman wished to see Julio. He spoke very correct French, though
his accent was a revelation for Argensola. Upon going into the bedroom
in search of his master, who was just arising, he said confidently,
"It's the cousin from Berlin who has come to say good-bye. It could not
be anyone else."