"We'll start on foot, anyway," he said cheerfully. "Now I must go. They're waiting. Why did you dress, Karen?"
"I don't know." She looked up at him in a dazed way. "I wanted to be with you."
"I'm going back to the forest, dear."
"Could I come?"
"No. I don't want you to be out at night. There's only a fireless camp there and a dozen ragged and dirty men. Besides, there might be some sort of trouble."
"Trouble?"
"Not likely. Still there might be patrols out from Trois Fontaines, even from Lesse. I don't know. Michaud says he can take us across the railway line before daylight. If he can do that I think we shall find the country clear beyond. Anyway, we'll know soon. Now I must say good-bye."
She laid her cold hands in his, tried to speak, but could not. Then, of a sudden, her fingers gripped his in terror; there came the rushing swish of an automobile around the gravel circle outside, a loud resonant humming, a sharp voice speaking in German, a quick reply in the same tongue.
"The—the valet's room. Quick!" she gasped, pushing him backward across the room and through the doorway. Behind him the swinging leather door closed silently again; the girl stood rigid, white as a sheet, then she walked to the oak table, picked up a book, and dropped into the depths of a leather arm-chair.
Outside the mellow whirr of the motor had ceased; the door of the car closed with a click; quick, firm steps ascended the path; there came a low jingling sound, the clash of metal, then a key was rattled in the outer lock, turned sharply, and the door creaked open.