“Because I thought it would worry you.”
“And doesn’t it worry you?”
“A little, but I don’t mind,” Schinkel professed. “Very likely he may have left it.”
“He doesn’t leave candles!” she returned with vehemence. She hurried up the few remaining steps to the door and paused there with her ear against it. Her hand grasped the handle and turned it, but the door resisted. Then she panted to her companion: “We must go in—we must go in!”
“But what will you do when it’s locked?” he contended.
“You must break it down.”
“It’s very expensive,” said Schinkel.
“Don’t be abject!” cried the Princess. “In a house like this the fastenings are worth nothing; they’ll easily yield.”
“And if he’s not there—if he comes back and finds what we’ve done?”
She looked at him a moment through the darkness, which was mitigated only by the small glow proceeding from the chink. “He is there! Before God he’s there!”