"Listen to me, Philippe! I swear to you that you have misunderstood."
He drew away and she fell prone upon the floor, trying to follow him. His fury had turned to contempt and now to pity. He turned, picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, releasing himself gently, for she had no more strength to fight him. And then he left her and went slowly down the stairs.
For a while she lay there motionless, her head buried in her arms. Once her shoulders moved convulsively but she made no sound. Her face when she raised it toward the candle light was haggard, but tearless. Her lips were compressed and she even smiled a little. But her eyes were unusually bright. With an abrupt movement of decision she straightened, and getting up went to the door, where she paused a moment, gazing down the stairs. Then went to the landing below, clinging to the railing, and called Frau Nisko. There was no reply. She crept down to the lower floor and out to the kitchen. There was a woman there by the window fanning herself with a newspaper.
"Where is Frau Nisko?" asked Zoya.
The woman turned a heavy bovine gaze.
"She has gone," she replied.
"Where?"
The woman shrugged.
"Did a man come in here a while ago?"