ntinued to strike pitiless blows into which she put all her fury, her
terror, her frayed and ragged nerves.

The girl on the floor, from whimpering, fell to crying hard, with great
noiseless sobs of pain and bewilderment. When at last the blows ceased,
she lay still.

The Countess prodded her with her foot. "Get up," she commanded.

But she was startled when she saw the girl's face. It was she who was
the fool. The welt would tell its own story, and the other servants
would talk. It was already a deep purple, and swollen. Both women were
trembling. The Countess, still holding the crop, sat down.

"Now!" she said. "You will tell me to whom you gave a certain small book
of which you know."

"I, madame?"

"You."

"But what book? I have given nothing, madame. I swear it."

"Then you admitted some one to this room?"

"No one, madame, except--" She hesitated.

"Well?"

"There came this afternoon the men who clean madame's windows. No one
else, madame."

She put her hand to her cheek, and looked furtively to see if her
fingers were stained with blood. The Countess, muttering, fell to
furious pacing of the room. So that was it, of course. The girl was
telling the truth. She was too stupid to lie. Then the Committee of Ten
indeed knew everything--had known that she would be away, had known of
the window cleaners, had known of the safe, and her possession of the
code.

Cold and calculating rage filled her. Niburg had played her false, of
course. But Niburg was only a go-between. He had known nothing of the
codebook. He had given the Committee the letter, and by now they knew
all that it told. What did it not know?

She dismissed the girl and put away the riding-crop, then she smoothed
the disorder of her hair and dress. The court physician, calling a half
hour later, found her reading on a chaise longue in her boudoir, looking
pale and handsome; and spent what he considered a pleasant half-hour
with her. He loved gossip, and there was plenty just now. Indications
were that they would have a wedding soon. An unwilling bride, perhaps,
eh? But a lovely one. For him, he was glad that Karnia was to be an
ally, and not an enemy. He had seen enough of wars. And so on and on,
while the Countess smiled and nodded, and shivered in her very heart.

At eleven o'clock he went away, kissing her hand rather more fervently
than professionally, although his instinct to place his fingers over the
pulse rather spoiled the effect