She had slipped out of her dark robe before getting down, and entered the store. For a moment a vague notion came into her head of escaping through a rear door and hiding from him. But maturer thought soon convinced her that such a plan was impracticable. Gregory Khodkine was far too clever to permit himself to be eluded in such a way. He had made sure, too, that she had no money in her possession and without money her case was hopeless. The exciting events of the night and previous day had worn upon her and she now felt weak from lack of food. There was nothing for it but to obey Monsieur Khodkine's injunctions and so she made her purchase quickly, put on the hat, coat and gloves, and with the other articles in the suit-case, presented the bill to Khodkine, who gave her the money.
As he handed her into the machine he smiled at her gravely.
"I am sorry to have kept you up all night, but there is an inn near by and breakfast should be welcome."
Monsieur Khodkine was right. The coffee was poor, but it was real coffee, the eggs were freshly laid in a neighboring barn yard and the rations of war bread were nourishing. She found nothing to complain of in the demeanor of her companion and their breakfast finished they were again upon their way. Khodkine had now taken the suitcase into the front seat beside him and put Tanya into the tonneau, expressing a hope that she would find a chance to doze. It would be impossible to stop to rest as many miles were to be covered by nightfall, and there was no time to spare. This rearrangement of their positions was agreeable to Tanya, for she had many things to think of. If she still had any thought of escaping, Gregory Khodkine quickly removed them, for the fuel of the machine having been replenished at Tuttlingen, she soon saw that he was bent on covering the miles to Munich at a speed as rapid as consistent with safety. His suggestion that she try to sleep in the tonneau was impracticable, for though the road was for the most part in good condition, the car swerved violently at the turns and it was difficult without holding by a hand grasp to keep an upright position. Indeed it seemed as though she never wished to sleep again. Her body was weary with sitting upright, but her eyes, wide open, stared along the gray road before her as she wondered at Gregory Khodkine's skill, persistence and tirelessness.
A German agent! Many things had happened that had made her suspect him of Teutonic leanings. But this! And Gregory Khodkine was but one of many. Poor Russia! She had indeed fallen into the hands of the Philistines.
Every mile they traveled carried the Princess Tatyana further into the enemy's country and nearer to those from whom this traitor drew his high authority. Already she had been given proofs of the character of his laisser passer. One glance by an officer of the guard seemed sufficient to send the machine flying upon its way. There was always too an air of quick deference and a military salute which accompanied it. What chance was there for her with the Central Committee at Munich to which they were bound, with the finger of the Wilhelmstrasse upon the latch of its door, with ears near by, strained for the first free murmur which passed the bounds proscribed? Members of this Committee had been to Nemi--Georg Senf--letters had passed between them. Madame Rochal even had come from Munich, properly accredited. Tanya felt very much alone, very much at a loss, helpless in the face of the innumerable forces opposed to her. But somewhere within her heart a hope still leaped that all might yet be well with Monsieur Rowland.
All night and morning the possibility of his death had weighed heavily upon her conscience, for she could not deny a personal responsibility in the series of events which had brought about the final disaster. Of course she could hardly have foretold the madness of Ivanitch, but the fact remained that she had cast her fortunes upon Monsieur Rowland's side, and by giving him the secret of the vault, had plunged him into the danger that had resulted in his undoing. There was a sweetness in the memory of their first encounter in the garden of Nemi. Here was a boy grown to manhood unspoiled by rough contacts. She knew nothing of his history, save by the vague phrases which confessed a roving habit and a knowledge of many sides of life. But the naturalness of their brief friendship, its ingenuousness and charm were singularly refreshing to one who from childhood had been brought up in an atmosphere of intrigue and double meaning.
She could not believe that he would die. The vault was large. One, two, perhaps even three days might elapse before the air of the vault should be exhausted, and surely before that time a means would be found to enter it. Gregory Khodkine's revelation of Herr Liederman's plans had filled her with hope. Perhaps already Monsieur Rowland had been liberated and was devising means to offset the successes of her captor.
Would he follow her into Germany? And could he if he wished? If Picard had succeeded in crossing the frontier, her note to Shestov would have been delivered, for Picard, she knew, would go through fire for her. But what claim after all had she on this Philippe Rowland? A strange brief friendship, based upon the call of youth to youth, and an intimate community of interests born of her dependence and his mere love of adventure. (Poor boy! She had got him more than he had bargained for.) Or was his sudden allegiance born of something more than the interests she served? She tried to remember the things that he had said, the good-natured, disarming smile, the amused look in his dark eyes, that could be both deferent and bold.
And as she thought of this a slight frown gathered at her brows. His eyes could be bold and he was quite capable of suiting his actions to their meaning. Madame Rochal had lost no time in discovering Monsieur Rowland's knowledge of the complexities of her sex.