"Nay," said Geiger-Hans; "you know too much already. Fie, what a dance will there be here before the house falls! Even now Jerome is plotting his last gratification. Did not his eye fall upon you? Your husband's name, his sacred Austrian nationality—that is your only safeguard. And that name you are not to keep long. You are to become Madame d'Albignac."
"D'Albignac!" cried Sidonia. "I—Madame d'Albignac? You are mad, Geiger-Onkel!"
But, even as she spoke, she felt a cold sweat upon her.
"And d'Albignac will not be for a long engagement," pursued the fiddler, relentlessly. "The puppet King has very little time left, as his lieutenant knows, and he, d'Albignac, will be but too eager to save something out of the ruins—and, besides, they are amicably agreed already."
"I don't understand," said Sidonia again. She went white, then red, trembled, and caught at the prickly stem of the palm.
"Take me away with you," she broke out of a sudden, piteously. "Save me!"
"I cannot save you," answered the wanderer. His voice was harsh, yet it faltered. "No one can save you but your husband. Go home to him."
Then he began to tune his fiddle with fury, for his fellow-players were straggling back. Some of them looked curiously at the fine lady who was speaking to their unknown comrade so familiarly. Sidonia turned. Many of the great company were looking at her, too. Right across the room she saw Jerome and his equerry talking together; and, as they talked, their eyes (or so she fancied) ever and anon sought her.
Panic seized her. But, even in panic, Sidonia was loyal. She must not speak again to Geiger-Hans, lest she bring him into deeper danger. Geiger-Hans her friend, the wild wanderer, in prison! In prison for her! That would be terrible.
She wheeled round; and then, like a hunted thing, pushed her way blindly through the throng, determined to retire to the Burgravine's apartment. People nudged each other as she passed. At the door, an old lady, with white hair and a soft, pink-and-white face, detained her by the skirt: