"We regard military service as an honor, not a yoke. At least it is a duty. Of course the idea of duty does not enter into the unbridled caprice your people call liberty; it must first be taught. But, rely upon it, Fräulein, we shall teach it yet. I may be permitted to suppose that you are informed of the last events of the campaign, and know that the fate of the insurrection is already decided."
Danira, of course, knew this, she had even spoken of it to Marco an hour before, but nothing in the world would have induced her to admit it to this man, so with the courage of despair she answered:
"Do not triumph too soon! Marco Obrevic still holds out, and with him the bravest of our people. They can die, but they will not surrender."
Gerald started at the name; a strangely gloomy, searching glance rested on the young girl.
"Marco Obrevic!" he repeated. "So you know him--very well?"
"He is my brother's friend."
"And owes you his freedom--for the plan of escape was doubtless your work?"
"At least I had a share in it. True, Marco's liberty was purchased at a high price, it cost him his father and our tribe a chief. Joan Obrevic fell by your bullet."
"I did my duty, and besides, the fugitives fired at me first. I will repeat the words you just uttered: we are at war."
Reproach and retort sounded equally bitter and hostile, and the manner of both was as rigid and implacable as if they were really mortal foes, yet their eyes spoke a very different language from that of hate. Gerald could not avert his gaze from the beautiful, hostile face; he had forgotten everything else, even the summons of his wounded comrade, and only sought the eyes which shunned his, yet as though attracted by some magnetic power, constantly returned to them.