There was very little light in the compartment into which Max had so
successfully dived. Some one had turned down the wicks of the oil
lamps which hung suspended between the luggage-racks above, and the
gloom was notable rather than subdued. So far as he was concerned he
was perfectly contented; his security was all the greater. He pressed
his face against the window and peered out. The lights of the city
flashed by, and finally grew few and far between, and then came the
blackness of the country. It would take an hour and a half to cross
the frontier, and there would be no stop this side, for which he was
grateful. He swore, mumbling. To have come all this way to study, and
then to leg it in this ignominious fashion! It was downright
scandalous! Whoever heard of such laws? Of course he had been rather
silly in pulling his gun, for even in the United States--where he
devoutly wished himself at that moment--it was a misdemeanor to carry
concealed weapons. He felt of his cheek. He would return some day,
and if it was the last thing he ever did, he would slash that
lieutenant's cheeks. The insolent beggar! To be struck and not to
strike back! He choked.
Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and he cast
about.
"The deuce!" he muttered.
He was not alone. Huddled in the far corner was a woman heavily
veiled. Young or old, he could not tell. She sat motionless, and
appeared to be looking out of the opposite window. Well, so long as
she did not bother him he would not bother her. But he would much
rather have been alone.
He took out his passport and tried to read it. It was impossible. So
he rose, steadied himself, and turned up the wick of one of the lamps.
He did not hear the muffled exclamation which came from the other end.
He dropped back upon the cushion and began to read. So he was George
Ellis, an American student in good standing; he was aged twenty-nine,
had blue eyes, light hair, was six feet tall, and weighed one hundred
and fifty-four pounds. Ha! he had, then, lost thirty pounds in as many
minutes? At this rate he wouldn't cast a shadow when he struck
Dresden. He had studied three years at the college; but what the deuce
had he studied? If they were only asleep at the frontier! He returned
the document to his pocket, and as he did so his fingers came into
contact with the purse he had picked up in the road that
morning--Hildegarde von Heideloff. What meant Fate in crossing _her_
path with his? He had been perfectly contented in mind and heart
before that first morning ride; and here he was, sighing like a
furnace. She had been merely pretty on Monday, on Tuesday she had been
handsome, on Wednesday she had been adorable; now she was the most
beautiful woman that ever lived. (Ah, the progressive adjective, that
litany of love!) Alas! it was quite evident that she had passed out of
his life as suddenly and mysteriously as she had entered it. He would
keep the purse as a souvenir, and some day, when he was an old man, he
would open it.