“He is so ordered by his master, Prince Berloff.” And Drexel repeated what the countess had told him.
“And to think,” cried Sonya, “that it is I that put you in the prince’s power—I that brought you to this fate. Oh, if at least I could only save you!”
Her eyes sank in frantic thought, and she saw the two dead bodies. She sprang up, rushed into Ivan’s room, and then rushed back again.
“You shall not die here!” she cried excitedly. “We have still a chance! Quick! On with that gendarme’s coat and cap!”
“But what—”
“The gendarmes are away from that side of the house. I’ll slip down the ladder—you come after, and lead me away as your captive. In the darkness it may succeed. At least it’s a chance!”
Drexel threw away his pistol, tore the long coat from off the limp gendarme, slipped it on instead of his own and put on the dead man’s cap.
“I’m ready—come!” he cried, and made for Ivan’s room.
She stopped him with a hand upon his arm. “I deceived you. That chance is no chance at all. The house is surrounded.”
“Surrounded!” He rushed into the next room and to the window, she following him. “Yes! But if you knew it, why suggest——”