“Pardon,” suddenly said a voice at the door.
Both Drexel and the girl looked about. There stood a big-bodied, bearded man in the long gray coat of a captain of gendarmes.
“What is it?” Drexel curtly demanded in his broken Russian. The young woman said nothing.
The captain entered. He had the deference which the political police show the well-dressed and the obviously well-born, but can never spare the poor.
“Excuse me,” said he, “I must examine madame.”
The young woman paled, but her voice rang with indignation. “What do you mean?”
It was a distinct surprise to Drexel that her Russian was also broken—but little better than his own.
“It is my duty, madame,” returned the officer. “I am sorry, but I must discharge my duty.”
She rose in her superb beauty and flashed a look at the captain that made Drexel’s heart leap, so much of fire and spirit did it reveal.
“Duty or no duty, I shall accept no indignity at your hands!” she cried.