The girl flushed painfully:
“I do not care to take shelter under his name,” she said.
“It is the only way. And you must get to the coast in my car. There is no time to lose. Every vehicle, private and public, will be seized for military uses this morning. Every train will be crowded; every foot of room occupied on the Channel boats. There is only one thing for you to do—travel with me to Havre as my American maid.”
“Madame—would you do that—for me?” 407
“Why, I’ve got to,” said the Princess Mistchenka with a shrug. “I am not a barbarian to leave you to a firing squad, I hope.”
The car had stopped; the chauffeur descended and came around to open the door.
“Caron,” said the Princess, “no servants are stirring yet. Take my key, find a cloak and bring it out—and a coat for Monsieur Neeland—the one that Captain Sengoun left the other evening. Have you plenty of gasoline?”
“Plenty, madame.”
“Good. We leave for Havre in five minutes. Bring the cloak and coat quickly.”
The chauffeur hastened to the door, unlocked it, disappeared, then came out carrying a voluminous wrap and a man’s opera cloak. The Princess threw the one over Ilse Dumont; Neeland enveloped himself in the other.