Goritz opened a door which led to a small staircase, and he and Marishka descended and went through the kitchens to a small street or alley where a machine was awaiting them. A question—a reply from a man who had brought down their bags, and they moved slowly out of the alley into a small street.
A bath, food, and a glass of wine had restored Marishka, and she now faced the immediate future with renewed hope and courage. Apart from the belief, fostered by the careful detail of her companions arrangements, that she might still be successful in reaching the ear of the Duchess before the royal train reached Sarajevo, there was an appeal in the hazard of her venture with Captain Goritz. He was a clever man and a dangerous one, who, to gain his ends, whatever they were, would not hesitate to stoop to means beneath the dignity of honorable manhood—an intriguer, a master craftsman in the secret and recondite, a perverted gentleman, trained in a school which eliminated compassion, sentiment and all other human attributes in the attainment of its object and the consummation of its plans. And yet Marishka did not fear Captain Goritz. There is a kind of feminine courage which no man can understand, that is not physical nor even mental, born perhaps of that mysterious relation which modern philosophy calls sex antagonism—a spiritual hardihood which deals in the metaphysics of emotion and pays no tribute to any form of materiality. Captain Goritz, whatever his quality, to Marishka was merely a man. And whatever the forces at his command, her promise, the half uttered threat as to her fate—which she had refused to take seriously—she was aware that she was not defenseless. The elaborateness of the Ambassador's manner, the graces of Graf von Mendel, and Captain Goritz's now covert glances advised her that she was still armed with her woman's weapons. Marishka was young, but her two years in the life of the gayest court in Europe had sharpened her perceptions amazingly, but she knew that if beauty is a woman's letter of credit worth its face value with a man, it can also be a dangerous liability. Captain Goritz differed from the gay idlers of the Viennese Court. The signs of interest he had given her were slight,—a courtesy perhaps a trifle too studied, a lingering glance of his curiously penetrating eyes which might even have been impelled by professional curiosity, a thoughtfulness for her comfort which might have been any woman's due, and yet Marishka did not despair.
They reached the railway station uneventfully, where she learned that men from the Embassy had followed on bicycles as a matter of precaution, and the travelers found their compartment and were safely installed. She sank into her place silently and looked out of the window into the blur of moving lights as Vienna was left behind them. Upon the seat opposite her sat the newly created officer of the Fifteenth Army Corps, Ober Lieutenant Carl von Arnstorf, looking rather smart in his borrowed plumage. The intimacy of their new situation did not frighten her, for she thought that already she had read enough of her companion's character to know that at least so far she was on safe ground. She gave him permission to smoke without his asking it, and this, it seemed, made for the beginnings of a new informality in their relations.
"There isn't the slightest reason," she said with a smile, "that you should be uncomfortable. Since you are doomed for the present to share my imprisonment——"
"Doomed?" he exclaimed civilly. "You may be sure that I don't look upon such a doom with unhappiness, Countess. Are you very tired?"
"A little. I shall sleep presently."
"Do you know," he said as he thoughtfully inhaled his cigarette, "for the first time in my rather variegated career, I find myself in a false position."
"Really! How?"
"I will explain. I have had much dealing to do with women—with women of a certain sort. It is a part of my trade. Were you unscrupulous, intriguing, you would meet your match. As it is you have me at a disadvantage."
"I?"