Desiree leant over the table and wrote six words:
“Come, if you can come safely.”
Barlasch took up the paper, and, pushing up the bandage which had served to bring him unharmed through Russia, he frowned at it without understanding.
“It is not all writings that I can read,” he admitted. “Have you signed it?”
“No.”
“Then sign something that he will know, and no other—they might shoot me. Your baptismal name.”
And she wrote “Desiree” after the six words.
Barlasch folded the paper carefully and placed it in the lining of an old felt hat of Sebastian's which he now wore. He bound a scarf over his ears, after the manner of those who live on the Baltic shores in winter.
“You can leave the rest to me,” he said; and, with a nod and a grimace expressive of cunning, he left her.
He did not return that night. The days were short now, for the winter was well set in. It was nearly dark the next afternoon and very cold when he came back. He sent Lisa upstairs for Desiree.