Georgiev,
behind her, watched her, breathless, expectant. Harmony drew in
her head.
"Only a man in a green hat," she said. "And down the street a
group of soldiers."
"Ah!"
The situation dawned on the girl then, at least partially.
"They are coming for you?"
"It is possible. But there are many soldiers in Vienna."
"And I with the pigeon--Oh, it's too horrible! Herr Georgiev,
stay here in this room. Lock the door. Monia will say that it is
mine--"
"Ah no, Fraulein! It is quite hopeless. Nor is it a matter of the
pigeon. It is war, Fraulein. Do not distress yourself. It is but
a matter of--imprisonment."
"There must be something I can do," desperately. "I hear them
below. Is there no way to the roof, no escape?"
"None, Fraulein. It was an oversight. War is not my game; I am a
man of peace. You have been very kind to me, Fraulein. I thank
you."
"You are not going down!"
"Pardon, but it is better so. Soldiers they are of the provinces
mostly, and not for a lady to confront."
"They are coming up!"
He listened. The clank of scabbards against the stone stairs was
unmistakable. The little Georgiev straightened, threw out his
chest, turned to descend, faltered, came back a step or two.
His small black eyes were fixed on Harmony's face.
"Fraulein," he said huskily, "you are very lovely. I carry always
in my heart your image. Always so long as I live. Adieu."
He drew his heels together, gave a stiff little bow and was gone
down the staircase.
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