little moan and peered out through the veil: "Something has
happened, Monsieur! The officials are clustered together,
talking--there is some excitement! They are gesticulating and several
are pointing to the train! What is it--what is it?"

Velasco laughed again; but the laugh died in his throat. The two
turned and gazed at one another with wide, frightened eyes.

"The Chief of the Third Section--see! He is going from compartment to
compartment--He is looking at the passports! He is coming here--here!"

CHAPTER VI

"Your passports, Monsieur--Madame?"

Velasco thrust his hand slowly into the breast pocket of his coat and
drew out the precious papers. His manner was cold and indifferent, and
his eyes had narrowed into sleepy slits again beneath the heaviness of
his brows.

Kaya was leaning back on the cushions with the veil drawn closely over
her face. She was tapping the panels of the door with a dainty,
nervous foot. Neither glanced at the official.

The Chief of the Third Section was in evening dress with a fur cloak
thrown hastily over his shoulders. He would have passed for an
ordinary citizen on his way to a ball if it had not been for the
strangeness of such an attire in a railway station, and the cluster of
anxious, humble officials bowing and gesticulating about him. The
Chief examined the passports closely and at some length; then he tossed
an order over his shoulder in a quick, sharp tone to the group of
officials, and one hurried away.

"This lady, Monsieur, she is your wife?"

The voice of the Chief, as he turned to Velasco, was like the passing
of a brush over wool. The Violinist shuddered.

"Certainly sir, she is my wife," he returned curtly. "It is so stated
on the paper, I believe."

"It is," said the Chief, "The writing is plain, quite clear. Will you
be good enough to raise your veil, Madame?"

Kaya shrank back. "My veil!" she stammered. She half rose from her
seat, supporting herself, with her hands pressed down on the cushions,
gazing up at the waiting official. "No--my veil!--What do you mean?"

"I am sorry to trouble you," said the Chief sharply, "but I said: 'your
veil.' Kindly raise it at once. Ha!--Why shouldn't you show your
face, Madame?"

His burly form filled the doorway and the white of his shirt front,
half screened by the fur, gleamed under the electric light. He seemed
enormous.

Velasco's brows lifted suddenly until his eyes were wide open and