Her mind refused her. Fatigue and want of sleep were making her light-headed. She would not believe. She shut her eyes and by an effort of will managed to get control of her voice. "I find that I am very tired, Captain Goritz," she said quietly.
"Ah, it was very thoughtless--inconsiderate of me," he said, with sudden accents of civility. "It is very painful to believe ill of those to whom one is attached," he finished suavely.
"You are mistaken," she said slowly. "There is no attachment between Herr Renwick and me."
"A friend, let us say, then," he put in keenly, "in whom one is disappointed."
"It is nothing to me, Captain Goritz," she said, meeting his eyes bravely, "what Herr Renwick is or does."
"Still," he said with his exasperating pertinacity, "it is of course interesting to know the truth. It would perhaps be still more interesting to know what Herr Renwick has to say in regard to the matter."
"I do not care what Herr Renwick would have to say. I do not expect to see Herr Renwick again, Captain Goritz, in Vienna or elsewhere."
"But you will admit, it is not within the bounds of possibility. Herr Renwick is clever--indefatigable----"
"Merely that Herr Renwick is not easily discouraged. I would not be in the least surprised if he followed us on to Sarajevo."
Marishka stared at her companion for a moment and then sank back in her seat.
Her long sustained effort to keep pace with events had been too much for her. Her faculties failed to respond, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to obliterate all sight and sound. Dimly she heard the voice of Captain Goritz above the grinding of the brakes of the train.
"I am sorry that you are so tired, Countess Strahni. I shall now leave you to your own devices. We have reached Brück, and I shall go to another compartment. I shall arrange with the guard to see to your comfort."
The train stopped and the guard opened the door.
"Good-night, _liebchen_," he said with a smile. And as she opened her eyes in astonishment, she heard him say to the guard:
"Frau Lieutenant von Arnstorf desires to sleep. I am going to smoke with a friend in the adjoining carriage. She is not to be disturbed. You understand."
The man saluted and closed the door, and Marishka was alone. With an effort she rose and mechanically made her dispositions for sleep, thinking meanwhile of the words of Captain Goritz and feeling a dull and unhappy sense of disappointment and defeat. There was a latent cruelty under his air of civility which astonished and terrified her. And the revelations with regard to Hugh Renwick, astounding though they were, had in them just enough of a leaven of fact to make them almost if not quite credible. Hugh Renwick, the man she had chosen--a friend, a paid servant of atrocious Serbia! She could not--would not believe it. And yet this man's knowledge of European politics was simply uncanny. If his civility had disarmed her earlier in the day, if she had been able to speak lightly of the threat of her imprisonment, the fear that had always been in her heart was now a blind terror--not of the man's passions but of his lack of them. He was cold, impenetrable, impervious--a mind, a body without a soul. He haunted her. She lay on her couch and stared wide-eyed at vacancy. The sound of his voice still rang in her ears. She wondered now why the memory of it was so unpleasant to her. And then she thought she knew that it was because the magnetism of his eyes was missing. His body was a mere shell covering an intricate piece of machinery. She tried to think what it must be like to be actuated by a mind without a soul. She had pledged herself obedience to this man, trusting to her implicit faith in the ultimate goodness of every human creature to bring her through this venture safe from harm.
