Truxton King

"All women are alike to him," said Spantz sententiously. "I hope she is not to be left here for long. I don't like women about at a time like this. No offence, Madame Drovnask."

"She'll go to-morrow night, I'm sure," said Peter. "I told the Count we could not keep her here over the--over the 26th. You see, there is a bare possibility that none of us may ever come back after the bomb is hurled. See? We don't want a woman to die of starvation down here, in that event. I don't care what happens to the man in there. But the Count does not want this one to starve. Oh, no; not he."

"We must put her in the room with the American for the present. You are sure he will take her away before Saturday? A woman's cries are most distressing." It was Spantz who spoke.

"I'll stop her crying," volunteered Anna Cromer harshly.

"I fancy you could, my dear," agreed Spantz. They all laughed.

"She's regaining her senses," exclaimed one of the men. "Stand back, every one. Give her air."

"Air?" cried Anna Cromer. "It's at a premium down here, Raoul."

Presently the door to King's room was thrown open. He had got to his feet and was standing in the centre of the room, his eyes blinking in the glare of light.

"Holloh!" cried Peter Brutus, "you up, eh? We've got a fair lady for you, my friend. Get back there, you dog! Keep in your corner."

Truxton faced the ugly crowd beyond the door for a moment and then fell back to the corner to watch the proceedings with wondering, pitying eyes.

"You are a fine bunch of human beings," he blurted out, savage with despair and rage. No one gave heed to the compliment.

A man with a lighted candle entered first, holding the light above his head. He was followed by two others, who supported the drooping, tottering figure of a woman.

"Let her sit there against the wall, Drago. Julius, fetch in more candles. She must not be left in the dark. He says she is not to be frightened to death. Women are afraid of the dark--and strange dogs. Let there be light," scoffed Peter Brutus, spitting toward King.

"I'll get you for that some day," grated the American, white with anger. Peter hesitated, then spat again and laughed loudly.

"Enough!" commanded William Spantz. "We are not children." Turning to King he went on, a touch of kindness in his voice: "Cheer her if you can. She is one of your class. Do not let the lights go out."