"_Rìen du tout. Plaisir! Plaisir!_ Go back to your carriage now, and I'll send two of my men presently to show you the way out. What's that? The door is locked on the outside? Come with me, then."
They walked back along the train, and entered their compartment from the other side, on which the door had been broken in.
"You can't bring much luggage. Wrap up well. _Il fait très-froid._ Is your cousin strong enough to ride?"
At this point Rakoff stumbled over the severed head on the floor, and struck a match.
"What babies my men are!" he exclaimed, with a smile.
He picked up the head and threw it out on the track. Then he told Sylvia and Michael to prepare for their escape, and left them.
"What do you think of my esthetic Bulgarian?" she asked.
"It's extraordinary how certain personalities have the power to twist one's standards," Michael answered, emphatically. "A few minutes ago I was sick with horror--the whole world seemed to be tumbling to pieces before human bestiality--and now, before the blood is dry on the railway sleepers, I've accepted it as a fact, and--Sylvia--do you know what I was thinking the last minute or two? I'm in a way appalled by my own callousness in being able to smile--but I really was thinking with amusement what a pity it was we couldn't hand over a few noisy stay-at-home Englishmen to the sensitive Rakoff."
"Michael," Sylvia demanded, anxiously, "do you think you are strong enough to ride? I'm not sure how far we are from the Greek frontier, but it's sure to mean at least a week in the saddle. It seems madness for you to attempt it."
"My dear, I'm not going to stay in this accursed train."
"I've a letter of introduction for a clerk in Cavalla," Sylvia reminded him, with a smile.
"Let's hope he invites us to lunch when we present it," Michael laughed.
The tension of waiting for the escape required this kind of feeble joking; any break in the conversation gave them time to think of the corpses scattered about in the darkness, which with the slow death of the fire was reconquering its territory. They followed Rakoff's advice and heaped extra clothes upon themselves, filling the pockets with victuals. Sylvia borrowed a cap from Michael and tied the golden shawl round her head; Michael did the same with an old college scarf. Then he tore the Red Cross brassard from his sleeve: