“He has spoken of our interview?”
“Yes!”
“And you have told him?”
“To beware of Baron Domiloff,” she answered, coolly.
He bent over to read her face, uncertain in the dim twilight.
“You are jesting,” he murmured.
“It is very possible,” she admitted.
She turned away from him, and looked towards the hills. The muttering of artillery still continued. Domiloff was uneasy.
“Countess,” he said, “I must go in to your brother, for this evening we were overheard in the Café Metropolitan, and I am not safe in the city any longer. But, I pray you to tell me this. What is your brother’s disposition concerning these matters of which we have talked?”
She shook her head.