and her mental processes were always clogged in the dark.

She found the old box of candles and placed four in the brackets and lit
them. Then she went over to the couch and looked down upon Franz von
Nettelbeck. He slept heavily, on his side, his arms relaxed but slightly
curved. In a few moments she went down the hall to her bedroom and took
a cold bath and made a cup of strong coffee; then dressed herself in a
suit of gray cloth, straight and loose, that her swiftest movements
might not be impeded. In the belt under the jacket she adjusted her
pistol and dagger.

She returned to the _Saal_ and once more looked down upon the
unconscious man. How long he had been falling asleep! She had offered
him wine, meaning to drug it, but he had refused lest it inflame his
wounds. She had offered to make him coffee, but he would not let her
go.

It was in the complete admission of her reluctance to leave him, even
after he slept, and while disturbed by the fear that the dawn was nearer
than in fact it was, that she stared down upon the man who was more to
her than Germany and all its enslaved women and men. He knew nothing of
her plans, had not a suspicion of the revolution, but he had vowed they
never should be parted again. He had great influence and could set
wheels in motion that would return him to the diplomatic service and
procure him an appointment to Spain; where good diplomatists were badly
needed.

It was an enchanting picture that he drew in spite of the horror that
must ever mutter at their threshold; but to the awfulness of war they
were both by this time more or less callous, although he was mortally