“I think I must go,” she said, and was about to rise, when our attention was arrested by the sight of a girl, bareheaded, with her black hair streaming in the wind, as she came bounding across the ice, and with her a big dog, jumping and leaping, sometimes behind her, sometimes in front, but never very far from her. It was Zaidee, who came to my side, and took me by the arm.
“Zaidee!” I said, trying to shake her off. “What is it? Why are you here?”
She was breathing so heavily that at first she could not speak, and, when at last she did, it was in long-drawn gasps.
“I’ve come,” she began, “to—tell—you—tell her—tell him”—and she pointed to Sophie—“tell him—to—go—now! They are after him! Too late! They’ve got him!” she wailed, and dropped at my side, exhausted.
Sophie had understood, and I shall never forget the expression of her face when, from some unseen quarter, a man appeared in front of us, and, laying his hand on her shoulder, said: “Ivan Scholaskie, I have found you at last!”
She was still holding Katy’s hand, and clung to it as if in this frail girl there was some hope of help. She had thrown back the collar of her coat, revealing her face more fully, and, rising to her feet, stood up erect, and taller than I had ever seen her. She had played a desperate game, and lost, and was now every inch a man in word and gesture.
“You have done a fine thing, Paul Strigoff! I congratulate you!” she said, with bitter scorn; “but I am sorry it should have occurred before these friends of mine,” and she turned toward me. I felt my strength leaving me for a moment, and I leaned on Zaidee for support.
Jack did not understand the gendarme’s words, but he did the action, and, with all his impulsive, American blood, sprang to the rescue.
“Let her go, I tell you! You don’t arrest girls, do you? Shame on you! Let her go! We know her well. She is our friend. She came with us from Paris.”
He held on to the officer’s arm with all his might, while Chance, who knew something was wrong, and that the feeling was against the gendarme, growled ominously, ready to spring, if told to do so. I think the gendarme was amused, or he would have walked off at once with his prisoner. As it was, he waited a few moments, while Sophie said to Jack: “No use, my boy! The game is up! I am not Sophie Scholaskie. I am Ivan, her brother!”