"A boy? Yes. No doubt.... But Destiny is too strong. Italian! What if----"
He paused, running his bony fingers through his long hair.
"Impossible. It cannot be," she soothed him.
"I have much to do--tomorrow or next day they are coming--the conference is momentous. If anything should----"
"Sh----! He shall be gone."
The girl turned to the American as though to atone for the strange conduct of her compatriot, and smiled graciously.
"You will forgive the whim of Monsieur Ivanitch, I am sure. He works too hard, all day, and most of the night. You would understand, if you knew his problems, his suspicions, his labors."
"I'm still willing to go, Mademoiselle, if Monsieur still desires it----" said Rowland easily.
For a moment they had been lost in each other. A gasp from the direction of the fireplace, and as they turned, Kirylo Ivanitch fled past them silently and out into the darkness of the night. The look the American sent after him gave the girl a true vision of what was passing in his mind.
"You think that he is mad," she said soberly. "It is not so. An obsession----" she paused abruptly as though the words had been stifled upon her lips and shrugged lightly. "I can tell you nothing--but on this I am resolved. You shall not be sent forth tonight or taken tomorrow when France, my country's ally, needs you yonder."