For a moment after that they stood confronting one another while the sound of the women sobbing in a corner, and the occasional jingle of a bridle outside, alone broke the silence. Behind her the room was dark; behind him, through the open windows, lay the road, glimmering pale through the dusk. Suddenly the door at her back opened, and a bright light flashed on his face. It was Marie Wort bringing in a lamp. No one spoke, and she set the lamp on the table, and going by him began to close the shutters. Still the Countess stood as if turned to stone, and he stood watching her.
'Where are they?' she moaned at last, though he had already told her.
'In the camp,' he said.
'Can I--can I see them?' she panted.
'Afterwards,' he answered, with the smile of a fiend; 'when you are my wife.'
That added the last straw. She took two steps to the table, and sitting down blindly, covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders began to tremble, her head sank lower and lower on the table. Her pride was gone.
'Heaven help us!' she whispered in a passion of grief. 'Heaven help us, for there is no help here!'
'That is better,' he said, eyeing her coldly. 'We shall soon come to terms now.'
In his exultation he went a step nearer to her. He was about to touch her--to lay his hand on her hair, believing his evil victory won, when suddenly two dark figures rose like shadows behind her chair. He recoiled, dropping his hand. In a moment a pistol barrel was thrust into his face. He fell back another step.
'One word and you are a dead man!' a stern voice hissed in his ear. Then he saw another barrel gleam in the lamplight, and he stood still.