The Girl from Alsace Part 18

"No," said Stewart, "I agree with you. Shoes are not necessary to a sleeping costume. But then neither is a pipe."

She laughed.

"You will find that the pipe is very necessary," she said, and rising briskly, stepped to the wash-stand and gave face and hands and arms a scrubbing so vigorous that she emerged, as it seemed to Stewart, more radiant than ever. Then she glanced into the pitcher with an exclamation of dismay. "There! I have used all the water! I wonder if our landlady has gone to bed?"

Catching up the pitcher, she crossed rapidly to the door and opened it.

There was no one there, and Stewart, following with the candle, saw that the hall was empty. They stood for a moment listening, but not a sound disturbed the stillness of the house.

The girl motioned him back into the room and closed the door softly.

Then, replacing the pitcher gently, she caught up a pile of Stewart's socks and stuffed them tightly under the door. Finally she set a chair snugly against it--for there was no lock--and turned to Stewart with a little sigh of relief.

"There," she said in a low tone; "no one can see our light nor overhear us, if we are careful. Perhaps they really do not suspect us--but we must take no chances. What hour have you?"

Stewart glanced at his watch.

"It is almost midnight."

"There is no time to lose. We must make our plans. Sit here beside me,"

and she sat down in one corner against the wall. "We must not waste our candle," she added. "Bring it with you, and we will blow it out until we need it again."

Stewart sat down beside her, placed the candle on the floor and leaned forward and blew it out.

For a moment they sat so, quite still, then Stewart felt a hand touch his. He seized it and held it close.

"I am very unhappy, my friend," she said, softly, "to have involved you in all this."

"Why, I am having the time of my life!" Stewart protested.

"If I had foreseen what was to happen," she went on, "I should never have asked you to a.s.sist me. I would have found some other way."

"The deuce you would! Then I'm glad you didn't foresee it."

"It is good of you to say so; but you must not involve yourself further."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I am in great danger. It is absolutely necessary that I escape. I cannot remain till morning. I cannot face that inspection. I should be denounced."

"Yes," agreed Stewart; "that's clear enough."

"Well, I will escape alone. When the police come for us, they will find only you."

"And will probably back me against a wall and shoot me out of hand."

"Oh, no; they will be rough and angry, but they will not dare to harm you. They know that you are an American--they cannot possibly suspect you of being a spy. You can prove the truth of all your statements."

"Not quite all," Stewart corrected.

"Of your statements, at least, so far as they concern yourself."

"Yes--but I will have considerable difficulty explaining my connection with you."

"Oh, no," said the girl, in a low voice; "that can be easily explained."

"How?"

"You will say," she answered, her voice lower still, "that you met me at the Kolner Hof, that I made advances, that you found me attractive, and that I readily agreed to accompany you to Paris. You can say that it was I who suggested altering your pa.s.sport--that you saw no harm in it--and that you knew absolutely nothing about me except that I was a--a loose woman."

Stewart's lips were trembling so that it was a moment before he could control his voice.

"And do you really think I would say that, little comrade?" he asked, hoa.r.s.ely. "Do you really think anything on earth could compel me to say that!"

He heard the quick intake of her breath; then she raised his hand to her cheek and he felt the hot tears upon it.

"Don't you understand," he went on earnestly, "that we are in this together to the end--the very end? I know I'm not of much use, but I am not such a coward as you seem to think me, and----"

She stopped him with a quick pressure of the fingers.

"Don't!" she breathed. "You are cruel!"

"Not half so cruel as you were a moment ago," he retorted.

"Forgive me, my friend," she pleaded, and moved a little nearer. "I did not know--I am but a girl--I thought perhaps you would wish to be rid of me."

"I don't want ever to be rid of you," began Stewart, brokenly, drawing her closer. "I don't want ever----"

She yielded for an instant to his arm; for the fraction of an instant her head was upon his breast; then she drew herself away, and silenced him with a tap upon the lips.

"Not now!" she said, and her voice, too, was hoa.r.s.e. "All we must think of now is to escape. Afterwards, perhaps----"

"I shall hold you to that!" said Stewart, and released her.

But again for an instant she bent close.

"You are a good man!" she whispered.

"Oh, no!" Stewart protested, though he was shaken by the words. "No better than the average!"

And then he suddenly found himself unable to go on, and there was a moment's silence. When he spoke again, he had regained his self-control.

"Have you a plan?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and drew a quick breath, as of one shaking away some weakness. "The first part is that you should sit quite still until I tell you to light the candle."

"But what----"

"A good soldier does not ask questions."

"All right, general," said Stewart, and settled back against the wall, completely, ineffably happy. Never before, he told himself, had he known what happiness was; never before had the mere joy of living surged through his veins as it was doing now. Little comrade! But what was she doing?