At last she rose to retire.
'I cannot conceal from you, that, from all I hear, your peril is very great,' said she, nervously attempting to button her riding gauntlets, a task which Cecil hastened to perform for her.
'I shall demand a court-martial!' he exclaimed.
'Palenka tells me that such will not be accorded to you.'
'What then?'
'By the fiat of the King, through the minister of police, you may be—will be—I cannot speak it,' she continued in a broken voice, as her tears fell fast, and her head drooped for a moment on his shoulder; 'rather let me aid you to escape, and fly this place for ever. Have you money?'
'None.'
'That shall be my care—and horses too, by which to reach the frontier of Bulgaria, about fifty miles from this, where you will be comparatively safe. But how to get you out of this place—and how to elude these Russian sentinels at the door, are the difficulties that appal and bewilder me!'
'Margarita, the idea of flight is most repugnant to me—it looks so like timidity and confession of guilt.'
'They are determined to deem you guilty, I fear, under any circumstances. You have but yourself to consider, and—me.'