The remainder of the night they had spent peacefully enough, wandering about the streets, occasionally being "moved on" by a policeman, until the sceptical officer already referred to had evinced an intention of arresting them both as rogues and vagabonds. I could not help smiling at the peremptory manner in which poor Giannoli's adventures had almost been brought to a conclusion.
I gave Giannoli the proceeds of the previous night's pawnings, and I and Kosinski turned out on the table what money we had about us. It was just sufficient to cover the expenses of the first stage of Giannoli's journey.
We proceeded--a quaint procession--to the station. Kosinski led the way with head bent forward and even resolute tread, apparently untired and unaffected by his night's vicissitudes, with the much battered box on his shoulders. Behind him followed Giannoli and myself, the former nervous and unstrung, constantly turning from right to left with the idea that we were being followed. In the station, half deserted this Sunday morning, we had another long wait. We talked of many things together, and I had never found Kosinski so friendly and communicative before. There existed between Giannoli and himself the keen sympathy and understanding of two men equally devoted to an idea, equally willing to sacrifice everything to it. The Russian was more of a philosopher than the Italian, more engrossed in abstractions, more oblivious of his own personality, and this it was that had saved him from the possibility of Giannoli's terrible malady. At the same time he was by no means inclined to make light of Giannoli's fears, and together they talked them over, Kosinski promising to investigate them after his friend's departure, and to see if it was possible to discover who was really at fault.
"No man can ever hold such threats over me," said Kosinski, "for I have never taken any one into my confidence. I have always acted alone. Some day it may fall to my lot to pay with my life for some action on behalf of our ideas. When that moment comes I shall be ready for the sacrifice."
"I too," exclaimed Giannoli with fervour--"I too would not hesitate to make the sacrifice if I felt the right moment had arrived. If to-morrow--if at this very moment--I saw the means of advancing the Anarchist cause by the sacrifice of my life, I would give it without regret or hesitation. But to lose it for no purpose, before I have finished my work, to fall a victim to the envy and treachery of my own comrades, and to involve others in my own ruin, I cannot bear. When my time comes to die I wish to feel that my death is at any rate of some use. There are moments when an Anarchist can help his ideas on better by dying than by living. But for me the moment is not yet quite ripe."