"Whatever your mission with regard to me--that is unimportant--beside this other duty----"

"Yes, yes. We shall need you. If you could reach the Duchess personally----"

"She will listen. I have known her all my life."

"Good. We must succeed." And then, figuring to himself. "Brunn--one hundred kilometers--Vienna seventy more--five hours--six perhaps. They may not leave Vienna at once----"

"The German Ambassador----" she suggested.

"Of course." And then, turning suddenly toward her, his eyes intent, he said, with great seriousness: "Countess Strahni, for the moment your interests and mine are identical. The success of this project depends upon your silence----"

"Anything----!"

"One moment, please," he put in quickly. "I wish you to understand the seriousness of your position. Your security, your safety now and later, will depend upon your own actions. You have proved yourself politically dangerous to the peace--to the welfare of Europe. My mission was to bring you safely into Germany. Failing in that, I must exact absolute silence and obedience----"

"Yes----"

"You travel as my wife, the wife of a German officer going to Vienna for medical advice----"

She flinched a little, but his air of abstraction reassured her.

"Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"You have friends in Vienna. You must not see them. Have I your word?"

"I have no wish but to help you."

He examined her keenly.

"I regret that the terms of our contract must be more explicit."

"In what?"

"I exact your word of honor to remain under my orders, to make no attempt to escape, to speak no word as to my identity or your own----"

"Have I not told you that my own fate is unimportant if I succeed in reaching the Duchess of Hohenberg?"

"And after that?" he asked keenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Merely that the same conditions as to yourself shall continue to exist."

Marishka hesitated. What lay before her? It was incredible that harm could come to one of her condition at the hands of the servants of a great and Christian nation like Germany. She glanced at Captain Goritz.

He was still examining her gravely, impersonally. There seemed little doubt as to the genuineness of his intentions.

"And the alternative?" she asked.

His expression changed and he looked slowly away from her at the flying landscape. "I regret that you are still oblivious to your danger. You and one other person in Europe were the witnesses to the meeting at Konopisht. His Majesty's government does not deem it expedient at this time that you should be at liberty to discuss the matter----"

"But I have already spoken----"

"That matters nothing if the witnesses are eliminated."

His tones were quiet, but there was no doubt as to his meaning and she started back from him in dismay.

"You mean that you would----"

She halted again, wordless.

"Political secrets are dangerous--their possessors a menace."

"You--you would destroy----?" she gasped.

"The evidence!" he finished.

His voice was firm, his lips compressed, and he would not look at her.

But she was still incredulous. Civility such as his and violence such as he suggested were incongruous. She took refuge from her terror in a laugh.

"You are trying to--to frighten me," she stammered.

"If you are frightened, I am sorry. You are in no danger, if you will do what I ask. I shall spare no courtesy, neglect no pains for your comfort."

"Thanks. That is kind of you. You will gorge the goose that it may be the more palatable."

He gave a slight shrug.

"I am but doing my duty. In my position, Countess, one is but a piece of thinking machinery."

"Yet it has been said that even machinery has a soul."

He glanced around at her quickly, but she was looking straight before her at the narrow ribbon of road which whirled toward them. She was very handsome, this dark-haired prisoner of his, and the personal note that had fallen into her speech made their relations at once more easy and more difficult.

"I regret," he said coolly, "that my orders have been explicit. I still demand that you comply with the conditions I have imposed. Your word of honor--it is enough."

She paused for a long moment--debating her chances. She was selling her liberty--bartering it with a word--for Sophie Chotek. This was her atonement, and if she failed, her sacrifice would be in vain.

She took a surreptitious glance at the profile of Captain Goritz. A part of the great machine that the world calling Germany he might be, but she read something in his looks which gave her an idea that he might be something more than a cog between the wheels.

Some feminine instinct in her, aroused by his impassive performance of his duty, gave her new courage. Since they were at war, she would play the game using women's weapons. After all, he was a man, a mere man.

When she spoke, it was with the air of calm resolution with which one faces heavy odds.

"I am in your power," she said quietly. "I give my word of honor to do as you wish."

And as his gaze dwelt for a moment upon her face--