"When does their train leave Vienna?"
"At six—from the Staats Bahnhof—Excellency."
"It is six o'clock now," cried the other voice in dismay. "We are too late——"
Marishka heard no more. It was enough. Too late! She had failed. Her sacrifice, her atonement,—fruitless. She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands, trying to think. But in her head was a dull chaos of sounds, echoes of her wild ride, and her body swayed as she sat. She had never fainted, but for a moment it seemed that she lost consciousness. She found herself presently staring through her fingers at the pattern in the gray aubusson carpet—and wondering where she was. Then she heard the voices again and remembered that she must listen.
The voice of the one they called Excellency was speaking.
"Herr Gott, Goritz! Austria's mad archdukes! The telegraph also closed! It is unbelievable. I must send a message in code to Berlin."
"It would be delayed," said Goritz dryly.
"But something must be done——"
"If you will permit——"
"Speak."