he replied in a dull voice.

"To whom?"

"To the Municipals over there."

"Give yourself up!" he repeated. "Why?"

She passed a slender hand over her eyes as though unutterably weary:

"Neeland," she said, "I am lost already.... And I am very tired."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, drawing her back under a
_porte-cochere_. "You live somewhere, don't you? If it's safe for you
to go back to your lodgings, I'll take you there. Is it?"

"No."

"Well, then, I'll take you somewhere else. I'll find somewhere to take
you----"

She shook her head:

"It is useless, Neeland. There is no chance of my leaving the city
now--no chance left--no hope. It is simpler for me to end the matter
this way----"

"Can't you go to the Turkish Embassy!"

She looked up at him in a surprised, hopeless way:

"Do you suppose that any Embassy ever receives a spy in trouble? Do
you really imagine that any government ever admits employing secret
agents, or stirs a finger to aid them when they are in need?"

"I told you I'd stand by you," he reminded her bluntly.

"You have been--kind--Neeland."

"And you have been very loyal to me, Scheherazade. I shall not abandon
you."

"How can you help me? I can't get out of this city. Wherever I go,
now, it will be only a matter of a few hours before I am arrested."

"The American Embassy. There is a _man_ there," he reminded her.

She shrugged her naked shoulders:

"I cannot get within sight of the Trocadero before the secret police
arrest me. Where shall I go? I have no passport, no papers, not even
false ones. If I go to the lodgings where I expected to find shelter
it means my arrest, court martial, and execution in a _caserne_ within
twenty-four hours. And it would involve others who trust me--condemn
them instantly to a firing squad--if I am found by the police in
their company!... No, Neeland. There's no hope for me. Too many know
me in Paris. I took a risk in coming here when war was almost certain.
I took my chances, and lost. It's too late to whimper now."

As he stared at her something suddenly brightened above them; and he
looked up and saw the first sunbeam painting a chimney top with palest
gold.

"Come," he said, "we've got to get out of this! We've got to go
somewhere--find a taxicab and get under shelter----"

She yielded to the pressure of his arm and moved forward beside him.
He halted for a moment on the curb, looking up and down the empty
streets for a cab of any