"Sylvia, it's quite obvious that he expects us to make a bolt for the Greek frontier as soon as possible. How much do you think I ought to tip each of these fellows?"
"I'm not very well versed in country-house manners," Sylvia laughed, "but I was always under the impression that one tipped the head gamekeeper and did not bother oneself about the local poachers."
"But it does seem wrong somehow to slip away in the darkness without a word of thanks," Michael said, with a smile. "I really can't help liking these ruffians."
At that moment Rakoff stepped forward into their conversation.
"I'm going to ride over to our lines presently," he announced. "You'd better come with me, and you'll not be much more than a few hundred meters from the Greek outposts. The Greek soldiers wear khaki. You won't be called upon to give any explanations."
Michael began to thank him, but the Bulgarian waved aside his words.
"You are included in the fulfilment of an obligation, monsieur, and being still in debt to mademoiselle, I should be embarrassed by any expression from her of gratitude. Come, it is time for supper."
Throughout the meal, which was eaten in a ruined chapel, Rakoff talked of his rose-gardens, and Sylvia fancied that he was trying to reproduce in her mind her first impression of him in order to make this last meal seem but the real conclusion of their long railway journey together. She wondered if Ziska knew that this was the last meal and if she approved of her leader's action in helping two enemies to escape. However, it was waste of time to speculate about Ziska's feelings: she had no feelings: she was nothing but a finely perfected instrument of destruction; and Sylvia nodded a casual good-night to her when supper was over, turning round to take a final glance at her bending over her rifle in the dim, tumble-down chapel as she might have looked back at some inanimate object which had momentarily caught her attention in a museum.
They rode downhill most of the way toward the Bulgarian lines, and about two hours after midnight saw the tents, like mushrooms, under the light of a hazy and decrescent moon.
"Here we bid one another farewell," said Rakoff, reining up.