“Do you mind coming in mine?” she begged. “It is of no consequence, if you object, but every servant in Bernadine’s house is a German and a spy. There are no women except my own maid. Your car is likely enough known to them and there might be trouble. If you will come with me now, you and your friend, if you like, I will send you to the station to-night in time to catch the train home. I feel that I must have this thing off my mind. You will come? Yes?”
Peter rang the bell and ordered his coat.
“Without a doubt,” he answered. “May we not offer you some tea first?”
She shook her head.
“To-day I cannot think of eating or drinking,” she replied. “Bernadine and I were no longer what we had been, but the shock of his death seems none the less terrible. I feel like a traitor to him for coming here, yet I believe that I am doing what is right,” she added, softly.
“If you will excuse me for one moment,” Peter said, “while I take leave of my wife, I will rejoin you presently.”
Peter was absent for only a few minutes. Sogrange and the Baroness exchanged the merest commonplaces. As they all passed down the hall, Sogrange lingered behind.
“If you will take the Baroness out to the car,” he suggested, “I will telephone to the Embassy and tell them not to expect me.”
Peter offered his arm to his companion. She seemed, indeed, to need support. Her fingers clutched at his coat-sleeve as they passed on to the pavement.
“I am so glad to be no longer quite alone,” she whispered. “Almost I wish that your friend were not coming. I know that Bernadine and you were enemies, but then you were enemies not personally, but politically. After all, it is you who stand for the things which have become so dear to me.”