In him, moreover, were blended the passionate ideas of a _savant_ and a revolutionist, ideas in which one found negation of everything, acceptance and possibly provocation of the worst forms of violence, with a glimpse of the vague monster of Anarchism underlying all.

And so, on what basis could there be any understanding between them, since each retained his prejudices against the other, and saw him on the opposite side of the chasm, without possibility of any plank being thrown across it to enable them to unite?
Thus, all alone in that room, their poor hearts bled with distracted brotherly love.
Pierre knew that, on a previous occasion, Guillaume had narrowly escaped being compromised in an Anarchist affair.

He asked him no questions, but he could not help reflecting that he would not have hidden himself in this fashion had he not feared arrest for complicity.

Complicity with Salvat?
Was he really an accomplice?
Pierre shuddered, for the only materials on which he could found a contrary opinion were, on one hand, the words that had escaped his brother after the crime, the cry he had raised accusing Salvat of having stolen a cartridge from him; and, on the other hand, his heroic rush into the doorway of the Duvillard mansion in order to extinguish the match.

A great deal still remained obscure; but if a cartridge of that frightful explosive had been stolen from Guillaume the fact must be that he manufactured such cartridges and had others at home.