Frau Nisko looked pained but spoke up bravely: "They have done what they could--you were not recognized----"
"But if he should come----" she shuddered.
"The chances are one in a hundred----"
"But that one chance----! It is the one he never neglects."
Another silence in which Zoya relaxed again upon her pillow, groaning. Markov crossed to the side of the bed and bent over her.
"What is it that you wish--Maria----" he paused in a significant confusion, and then finished painfully, calling her by the name they knew--"What can we do--Madame Rochal?"
She straightened again and sat up in bed, her eyes flashing feverishly.
"Who is to stay here with me?" she asked. "Am I to be deserted, flaunted, cast aside into the gutter for my enemy to step upon? Am I no longer of any value--any account in your reckonings?" She laughed hysterically. "Go!" she whispered. "Go! I don't care."
"Sh--! Mariana! Sh--! Madame," whispered Markov soothingly. "There is no danger. No one can harm you. Did you not vote as Von Stromberg wished? He can have nothing against you. What can he do? In less than a week I will return----"
"You!" muttered Frau Nisko.