"Herr Rowland does not understand," he said gently. "It is not my poverty--but my heart--that consents."
Rowland bowed his head and caught Markov by the hand.
"Forgive me, my friend," he muttered.
Markov waved his apologies aside.
"It shall be done. The Fräulein shall go and----"
Zoya gave a hard little laugh.
"And what becomes of me?" she asked.
Markov rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The question it seemed for the moment had stricken him dumb.
"It will be some days, Zoya," said Rowland quickly, "before you can be moved----"
"In the meanwhile you will leave me here at the mercy of Baron von Stromberg?" she asked querulously.