And he left her standing on the hearth-rug, her lips moving and framing no words.
CHAPTER XXXIV — AN APPEAL
“Have you spoken to the princess?” asked Steinmetz, without taking the cigar from his lips.
They were driving home through the forest that surrounded Osterno as the sea surrounds an island. They were alone in the sleigh. That which they had been doing had required no servant. Paul was driving, and consequently the three horses were going as hard as they could. The snow flew past their faces like the foam over the gunwale of a boat that is thrashing into a ten-knot breeze. Yet it was not all snow. There were flecks of foam from the horses’ mouths mingled with it.
“Yes,” answered Paul. His face was set and hard, his eyes stern. This trouble with the peasants was affecting him more keenly than he suspected. It was changing the man’s face—drawing lines about his lips, streaking his forehead with the marks of care. His position can hardly be realized by an Englishman unless it be compared to that of the captain of a great sinking ship full of human souls who have been placed under his care.
“And what did she say?” asked Steinmetz.
“That she would not leave unless we all went with her.”
Steinmetz drew the furs closer up round him.