“It is possible. But there are many soldiers in Vienna.”
“And I with the pigeon—Oh, it's too horrible! Herr Georgiev, stay here in this room. Lock the door. Monia will say that it is mine—”
“Ah no, Fraulein! It is quite hopeless. Nor is it a matter of the pigeon. It is war, Fraulein. Do not distress yourself. It is but a matter of—imprisonment.”
“There must be something I can do,” desperately. “I hear them below. Is there no way to the roof, no escape?”
“None, Fraulein. It was an oversight. War is not my game; I am a man of peace. You have been very kind to me, Fraulein. I thank you.”
“You are not going down!”
“Pardon, but it is better so. Soldiers they are of the provinces mostly, and not for a lady to confront.”
“They are coming up!”
He listened. The clank of scabbards against the stone stairs was unmistakable. The little Georgiev straightened, threw out his chest, turned to descend, faltered, came back a step or two.
His small black eyes were fixed on Harmony's face.