“Better come down from there, Polly,” said her father anxiously. “Some of those ruffians might come back.”
“Not to-day,” said Sherwen grimly. “They’ve had enough.”
“That is correct,” confirmed Von Plaanden. “Nevertheless, there may be disorder later. Would it not be better that you go to the British Legation, Fräulein?”
“Not I!” she returned. “I stay by my colors. And now I’m going to disband my army.”
Stretching out her hand to a vase near her, she drew out a rose of deepest red and held it above Von Plaanden.
“The color of my country,” said Von Plaanden gravely. “May I take it for a sign that I am forgiven?”
“Fully, freely, and gladly,” said the girl. “You have put a debt upon us all that I—that we can never repay.”
“It is I who pay. You will not think of me too hardly, for my one breach?”
“I shall think of you as a hero,” said the girl impetuously. “And I shall never forget. Catch, O knight.”
The rose fell, and was caught. Von Plaanden bowed low over it. Then he straightened to the military salute, and so rode out of the door and out of the girl’s life.