"He won't bother us. His Excellency gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. The guard has not dared to look in since. But we'll draw the curtain again."
They stood hand in hand and gazed at the prostrate giant.
"To think that anything like that could frighten one," said Rowland with a grin. "I think I could die happy if I tickled his nose." And then, "How did you know I was there?"
"I didn't until I saw you. I searched at Munich. It was a fearful risk for you to take."
"I had to take it. But I'll confess I didn't know what I was going to do when daylight came--unless I tumbled off. I'm not quite sure that I know now."
"The train stops at Weissenburg. We must get off there--by the opposite door and run for it."
"Are you up to it, Zoya? You've had no sleep--the excitement----"
"I'm no weakling, mon brave."
The daylight filtered slowly through the curtain of the carriage and still Von Stromberg slept. Twice the train stopped and each time, by way of precaution, Rowland crouched in a corner hidden under the traveling rug of His Excellency, At the second station Zoya pulled up the curtain and inquired of the guard the distance yet to be traveled. Herr Graf von Stromberg was asleep and desired on no account to be disturbed even when they reached their destination. If he still slept, the car was to remain in the station. Was this understood? She spoke in tones of authority and the man bowed and said he would repeat the orders. Madame need have no fear that they would not be obeyed.
Zoya's face was pallid and the cold light of the morning was merciless, but she smiled at Rowland and sat calmly beside their sleeping enemy, fully aware of the nature of the sacrifice she had made. Her fate was now bound up with Rowland's, his with hers. Failure now meant the extreme penalty of this man's power for them both--and his power was limitless. But a change had come over her since the scene in the room in the Schwaiger Strasse. She was very quiet, very pale, smiling when he spoke but making few comments and uttering no reproaches. She was like a soul already judged--already condemned and awaiting punishment. Rowland took her hand and held it in his. It was very cold and made no response to his pressure. It seemed that all the good in her, all the bad, all the noble, all the selfish, all indeed that was Zoya Rochal had been fused in the heat of a great emotion, then suddenly chilled with disillusion.