In one moment she understood her real position.
Black Donald had locked her in with himself and held the key—so she could not hope to get out.
The loudest scream that she might utter would never reach the distant chamber of Major Warfield, or the still more remote apartment of Mrs. Condiment; so she could not hope to bring any one to her assistance.
She was, therefore, entirely in the power of Black Donald. She fully comprehended this, and said to herself:
"Now, my dear Cap, if you don't look sharp your hour is come! Nothing on earth will save you, Cap, but your own wits! For if ever I saw mischief in any one's face, it is in that fellow's that is eating you up with his great eyes at the same time that he is laughing at you with his big mouth! Now, Cap, my little man, be a woman! Don't you stick at trifles! Think of Jael and Sisera! Think of Judith and Holofernes! And the devil and Doctor Faust, if necessary, and don't you blanch! All stratagems are fair in love and war—especially in war, and most especially in such a war as this is likely to be—a contest in close quarters for dear life!"
All this passed through her mind in one moment, and in the next her plan was formed.
Setting her waiter down upon the table and throwing herself into one of the armchairs, she said:
"Well, upon my word! I think a gentleman might let a lady know when he means to pay her a domiciliary visit at midnight!"
"Upon my word, I think you are very cool!" replied Black Donald, throwing himself into the second armchair on the other side of the stand of refreshments.
"People are likely to be cool on a December night, with the thermometer at zero, and the ground three feet under the snow," said Cap, nothing daunted.