John stood up.  His despair was gone.  All his natural courage came flowing back in a torrent, and Weber saw in his eyes the glow of a resolution, stern, tenacious and singularly like that of Lannes himself.

“I mean to get her back,” he said quietly.  “As you said, the one dangerous chance in a hundred has gene against us, and to offset it the one favorable chance in a hundred must come our way.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“I don’t know yet.  But we can’t remain in this hotel.  It’s no time to be seeking our comfort when our duty lies elsewhere.”

He took the candle again, holding it in a hand that was perfectly steady, and led the way down the hall and the stairway to the little lobby.  He did not speak, because he was trying to think rapidly and concisely.  If he followed the strict letter of command he would return that night to the hospital camp, and yet he could remain and say that he was delayed by the enemy.  He was willing to be untrue to his military duty for Julie’s sake, and his conscience did not reproach him.

“Is the snow diminishing, Weber?” he asked, as they came again into the little lobby.

“Somewhat, I think, Mr. Scott,” replied Weber as he went to the window.  “Are you thinking of pursuit?”

“Such an idea has been in my mind.”

“But where and how?”

“My thought is vague yet.”

“It’s like an Arctic land outside.  All footsteps, whether of men or horses, have been hidden by the snow.  There is certainly no trail for us to follow.”

“I know it, Weber, but it seems to me that Mademoiselle Lannes is calling to me.  She tells me to bring her back.”

The Alsatian glanced at John, but the young man’s face was earnest.  It was evident that he believed what he said.

“Mademoiselle Lannes may be calling to you,” he said, “but how can you go, and where?”

“I don’t know,” repeated John obstinately, “but I mean to find her.”

He walked irresolutely back and forth and his eye fell upon the register again.  Certainly it had been moved once more.  He had remembered just how it lay after he saw Weber’s name there, and now it was turned much further to one side.  He snatched up the candle and held it over the open pages.  Then he saw written in a heavy hand just beneath Weber’s name: 

Prince Karl of Auersperg, Zillenstein, Tyrol.  Luitpold Helmuth Schwenenger, " " Captain Max Sanger, Dantzig, Prussia.  Suite of His Highness, twenty persons.

John understood thoroughly.  He uttered a fierce cry of anger and grief, and Weber looked eagerly over his shoulder.

“We know now who has come,” he said.

“Yes, we know,” exclaimed John, “and I could wish that it had been anybody else!  I hate this man!  To me he represents all that is evil in the Old World, the concentrated wickedness of feudalism and I fear him, though not for myself!  Weber, I can’t bear to think of Julie Lannes in his hands!  If it were von Arnheim or that young Kratzek or any normal German it would be different, but this man, Auersperg, is not of our time!  He belongs to an older and worse age!”