“No, Count, indeed.”
But he would not accept her denial. “Oh, yes, we are,” he maintained. “I gave you a week, Fräulein, and much of that has yet to pass. It will take less than a week for you to see the folly of your refusal, the wisdom of throwing in your lot with the only man who can rescue you from a terrible danger, and make you one of the most envied women in the land.”
Philippa made no response. She was sick at heart at the evidence of the man’s indomitable will, and the conviction of his utter unscrupulousness.
Returning through the forest Zarka, as much, perhaps, by design as accident, encountered Von Tressen and Galabin. He gave the young men a salutation which bore no trace of the ill-feeling in which he had last parted from Von Tressen. His expression was serious without, for him, especial malevolence, and to the Lieutenant’s surprise he reined up and spoke to them, addressing himself, however, more particularly to Galabin. After a few casual inquiries as to their sport, he said:
“I am rather in trouble at Rozsnyo, and you will, I am sure, be sorry when you hear the cause. My cousin, Fräulein d’Ivady, is seriously ill.”
They expressed their regret at the news.
“Yes,” Zarka went on; “it is most unfortunate, and the more provoking as the illness is the result of an accident, the outcome of a foolish escapade.”
“Indeed?” Galabin responded, wondering how far the man was to be believed.
Zarka proceeded. “A most unheard-of affair. It is extraordinary to what lengths our country-women’s hot blood will sometimes drive them.”
“Dare we ask for an account of what has happened?” Galabin observed, curious to know what the arch schemer was driving at.