The third day dawned. She wrote, assuring him of her safety—of much else. The reply duly arrived. A false peace brooded over the little valley. Ceding to an impulse, she went out, tried to get a clearer view of his position, to see—she would not admit to herself her absurd hope. Then, regretting her imprudence, she returned hurriedly.
The grey of afternoon already filled the valley when a loud, imperative knocking upon the great door re-echoed through the house. The countess stood as if turned to stone; her heart seemed to stop. So soon! The threat to her exalted, impassioned life of the past days paralysed her. She could with difficulty cry to Marie to admit.
A German officer entered, a group of soldiers behind him. He saluted with stiff ceremony.
"Madame, I regret you must leave this house at once!" His French was painfully correct.
She faced him, tense.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then, madame, you leave me no alternative but to arrest you as a suspect."
She cried an inarticulate protest. The dog, hitherto standing by her side as though straining at a leash, sprang forward with an angry growl.
The German regarded the menace coolly, without moving a muscle.