“Some documents I secured while we were searching the prince’s study—papers of great value to us, I think. They will be safer with you.”
Drexel thrust the papers into the pocket of his shuba. “How did you get away from the prince?”
“Oh, a man came in, and then other people. The prince could not make a scene before them, so I calmly walked out. I suppose he had no idea you and I would run away.”
“Countess, I know you must think me very much of a coward for my desertion of you. I—well, I really can’t explain.”
“Please don’t apologize. You have shown you were no coward. Besides, all has turned out for the best. In an hour we’ll be at the station—two hours after that in St. Petersburg.”
“I wish we had a better horse,” said Drexel ruefully. “This is a stiff old beast.”
“I dare say I didn’t bribe the stableman heavily enough. But we shall make our train.”
They glided on—now over flat, bright spaces, where the road seemed as broad as eye-reach—now through shadowy forest stretches, where on either side they could almost touch the pendant boughs of the snowy evergreens. The countess talked eagerly of their plans for the release of Borodin; Drexel answered with reserve. She spoke warmly of what it meant to her that she had won him to the cause; on this subject, too, he was perforce reticent.
Presently, after they had been riding for over half an hour, Drexel thought he detected, penetrating the countess’s unbroken talk, a faint, soft thudding.
“Do you hear that?” he asked, looking back.