“Why did you not accept your parole?” whispered Gavin.
“Because I believed our chances better as prisoners of war, and, besides, there was a question as to your parole. All this may be known some day,” replied St. Arnaud in the same low whisper. “And you forget—Madame Ziska. No doubt we will be carried to Glatz, and she will be taken with us that far. I do not fear a very strict imprisonment—and a woman can contrive wonderful things.”
“Some women can, like my mother, for example,” replied Gavin.
“Very well. Madame Ziska is a loyal and devoted woman—something assures me of that; and, after all, we are not more than three hundred miles from Prince Charles at this very moment. Go to sleep.”
Gavin remained quiet for five minutes. Then he whispered:
“Have you any money?”
“Only a little, but half of it is yours.”
Gavin nudged St. Arnaud with his elbow as a sign of gratitude, and was again quiet for five minutes, when he murmured: “We are much better off, even as prisoners, than we were last night.”
“Yes.”
“And,” again whispered Gavin diffidently, “how did I act the officer?”