“Milo.”
The servant appeared. Without waiting to be questioned, she said—
“There is something wrong at Ars, madame. Bells are ringing, and a black cloud of smoke is rising above the trees. It might be possible to see from the roof.”
“I will mount at once!” exclaimed Marcel.
“I will follow you. Go with him,” she said to Milona.
But instead of keeping her word the young woman entered the small office where she was in the habit of writing her letters, took up a sheet of paper, and traced a few rapid lines. Steps could already be heard on the staircase. Marcel, pale and agitated, appeared before her.
“The fire must have caught the works. Oh, Anetta, I have forgotten everything by your side! Good-bye, I must rush off at once.”
“Marcel, do not forget that you are mine.”
With a look of fright she pressed him in her arms, and held him back.
“Darling, I must go. What would they think of me? I will return to-night. Let me go now.”