Bernd went to her and drew her hand through his arm and led her politely to the door, which he shut after her. Then he came back to me. "You know, Chris," he said, "about England?"
"Of course—just listen," I answered, for in the street newsboys were yelling Kriegserklarung Englands, and there was a great dull roaring as of a multitude of wild beasts who have been wounded.
"You must go to your mother at once—tomorrow," he said. "Before you're noticed, before there's been time to make your going difficult."
I told him the Grafin had asked me to leave, and I was coming here tonight. He wasted no words on the Koseritzes, but was anxious lest Frau Berg mightn't wish to take me in now. He said he would come with me and see that she did, and place me under her care as part of himself. "And tomorrow you run. You run to Switzerland, without telling Frau Berg or a soul where you are going," he said. "You just go out, and don't come back. I'll settle with Frau Berg afterwards. You go to the Anhalter station—on your feet, Chris, as though you were going for a walk—and get into the first train for Geneva, Zurich, Lausanne, anywhere as long as it's Switzerland. You'll want all your intelligence. Have you money enough?"
"Yes, yes," I said, feeling every second was precious and shouldn't be wasted; but he opened my violin-case and put a lot of banknotes into it.
"And have you courage enough?" he asked, taking my face in his hands and looking into my eyes.
Oh the blessedness, the blessedness of being near him, of hearing and seeing him. What couldn't I and wouldn't I be and do for Bernd?
I told him I had courage enough, for I had him, and I wouldn't fail in it, nor in patience.
"We shall want both, my Chris," he said, his face against mine, "oh, my
Chris—!"
And then the Colonel walked in.