“A few minutes later she called to me.  She was on her knees in the next room, two candles burning beside her, her rich dark hair loose about her shoulders, an open breviary bound with silver in her hands.  I can see her now, with her eyes closed, her lips moving noiselessly, her great lashes wet with tears, and that Madonna-like look as she motioned me to kneel.  For several minutes she prayed thus, the candles lighting her face, the room deathly still.  Then she arose, and with her eyes half shut, and her lips moving as if with her unfinished prayer, she lifted her head and kissed me on the forehead, on the chin, and on each cheek, making with her finger the sign of the cross.  Then, reaching for a pair of scissors, and cutting a small tress from her hair, she closed the locket upon it, and laid it in my hand.

“Early the next morning I was at her door.  She was dressed and waiting.  She greeted me kindly, but mournfully, saying in a tone which denoted her belief in its impossibility:—­

“‘And you will not go to Cracow?’

“When we reached the station, and I halted at the small gate opening upon the train platform, she merely pressed my hand, covered her head with her veil, and entered the carriage followed by Polaff.  I watched, hoping to see her face at the window, but she remained hidden.

* * * * *

“I turned into the Ringstrasse, still filled with her presence, and tortured by the thought of the conditions that prevented my following her, called a cab, and drove to our minister’s.  Mr. Motley then held the portfolio; my passport had expired, and, as I was entering Germany, needed renewing.  The attache agreed to the necessity, stamped it, and brought it back to me with the ink still wet.

“‘His excellency,’ said he, ’advises extreme caution on your part while here.  Be careful of your associates, and keep out of suspicious company.  Vienna is full of spies watching escaped Polish refugees.  Your name’—­reading it carefully—­’is apt to excite remark.  We are powerless to help in these cases.  Only last week an American who befriended a man in the street was arrested on the charge of giving aid and comfort to the enemy, and, despite our efforts, is still in prison.’

“I thanked him, and regained my cab with my head whirling.  What, after all, if the countess should have deceived me?  My blood chilled as I remembered her words of the day before:  recalled by the government she hated, her two brothers forced into the army, the cruelties and indignities Russia had heaped upon her family, and this last peremptory order to return.  Had my sympathetic nature and inexperience gotten me into trouble?  Then that Madonna-like head with angelic face, the lips moving in prayer, rose before me.  No, no; not she.  I would stake my life.

“I entered my hotel, and walked across the corridor for the key of my room.  Standing by the porter was an Austrian officer in full uniform, even to his white kid gloves.  As I passed I heard the porter say in German:—­