The night was exquisitely beautiful, with the waning moon, mysterious and honey-coloured in a firmament shimmering with stars. In the borders the flowers slept, the evening primroses had folded their golden petals, the scarlet pentstemons hidden their brilliance in the gloom; only the heliotrope and the Nicotiana swung their censers, lazily sending their heady perfume through the night, and the white tufted pansies shone like numberless tiny mirrors, reflecting the stars.
"Did Maurus get to sleep?" Rosemary asked after a while.
"Yes," Elza replied. "I gave him a cachet of aspirin. It quieted his nerves, and after a while he went to sleep."
"Won't you just dose your eyes, Elza, and try to rest a little? The night is young yet, and I am afraid you'll be ill if you don't get a little rest. You've gone through so much!"
"Presently, darling," Elza said quietly. "I dare say I shall drop to sleep, as I am very tired. But not just yet. I would like to stay here a little longer—unless I am bothering you." Then as Rosemary gave her knees an affectionate hug, she went on gently: "I love the smell of flowers in the night, don't you? They smell quite differently to what they do in the daytime." And presently she went on à propos of nothing at all:
"There is just one difficult place where the driver might miss his way. That would delay them a little, but even so they should be very near the frontier by now."
"Have you arranged to get any news?" Rosemary asked.
"Philip is to telephone from Hódmezö as soon as the office is open."
"You won't hear before then?"
"Yes. I told Jànos to say to the motor-driver that if he will drive straight back here from Hódmezö there will be a thousand leis for him, and if he gets here before eight o'clock then he will get two thousand."