"I understand," she said, after a moment's absolute silence; "and in this particular case—in my case—that would mean—Petersburg?"
He made no other reply save an assenting gesture of his hand.
For a long interval there was silence between them; a silence in which each was lost to the other's presence, and which was so full of dark meaning, so pregnant with dread possibilities, as to leave upon each like traces to those once impressed indelibly upon the countenance of a saint of old, who for one brief second was permitted to gaze into the bottomless pit of anguish.
Again it was the woman who first broke the silence, and though it was but the lightest whisper it pierced Philip's soul with dismay.
"Petersburg," she murmured, "and that means the mercies of the Imperial Chancellerie!"
"Patty," cried Philip with sudden passion, "this terrible alternative must never come to pass—it must be averted at all costs; do you hear me?—must be. You must be frank with me now, as frank as though your last hour had come. Answer me with absolute truth the questions I shall ask. I can only save you if you will save yourself."
She was not slow to read his meaning beneath his words, and the smile that curved her lips was bitter enough as she exclaimed:
"So you doubt me, Philip—you!" Then, with a quick indrawn breath: "Ask any questions you like, I will answer them."
"You know by whom your arrest has been accomplished?" he said quickly, avoiding any definite answer to her reproach.
"Yes, by Count Vladimir Mellikoff."