“Heaven of Heavens, yes!”
“Anything else, ma’am, if you please?”
“Yes——Poor boy! can it be possible?—You may bring me a table and a clean table cloth. Bring them to the door and rap. I will take them in.”
“That is all, ma’am?”
“Yes—go.”
The man left the door, but the guerrilla’s wife stood like one in a maze.
“Poor, poor lad,” she murmured. “He will have not the slightest chance of escape. They will hunt him with that pair of Siberian bloodhounds, I suppose. Yet if he is a spy, I shall rejoice at his being taken; for if it were possible for him to escape, he might—yes, he might betray Corsoni to death. Yes, I shall rejoice when he is taken! Yet I will plead for his life as I never pleaded for a life before!”
She was interrupted by the arrival of the table at the door, and she went and took it in, laid the cloth, and arranged the camp breakfast service on it.
In the midst of her work she was disturbed by a slight noise behind her. Turning round, she saw Elfie sitting up in bed, with her hands clasping her temples, her black hair flying loose, and her eyes staring around in bewilderment.
Alberta put down the knives and forks that were in her hand, and went to the side of her guest.