aid, and I laugh. I cannot help it.
When I am afraid, I laugh."

He bustled about the room, and Desiree saw that he had already opened
his secret store beneath the floor, to take from it such delicacies as
remained.

"You slept?" he asked sharply. "Yes, I can see you did. That is good,
for to-night we shall be awake. And now you must eat."

For Barlasch was a materialist. He had fought death in one form or
another all his life, and he knew that those who eat and sleep are
better equipped for the battle than those who cherish high ideals or
think great thoughts.

"It is a good thing," he said, looking at her, "that you are so slim. In
a military coat--if you put on that short dress in which you skate, and
your high boots--you will look like a soldier. It is a good thing that
it is winter, for you can wear the hood of your military coat over
your head, as they all do out in the trenches to keep their ears from
falling. So you need not cut off your hair--all that golden hair. Name
of thunder, that would be a pity, would it not?"

He turned to the fire and stirred his coffee reflectively.

"In my own country," he said, "a long time ago, there was a girl who had
hair like yours. That is why we are friends, perhaps."

He gave a queer, short laugh, and took up his sheepskin coat preparatory
to going out.

"I have my preparations to make," he said, with an air of importance.
"There is much to be thought of. We had not long together, for the
others were watching us. But we understand each other. I go now to give
him the signal that it is for to-night. I have borrowed one of Lisa's
dusters--a blue one that will show against the snow--with which to give
him the signal. And he is watching from Zoppot with his telescope. That
fat Lisa--if I had held up my finger, she would have fallen in love with
me. It has always been so. These women--"

And he went away muttering.

If he had preparations to make, Desiree had no less. She could take but
little with her, and she was quitting the house which had always been
her home so long as she could remember. Those trunks which Barlasch
had so unhesitatingly recognized as coming from France were, it seemed,
destined never to be used again. Mathilde had gone, taking with her
her few simple possessions; for they had always been poor in the
Frauengasse. Sebastian had departed on that journey which the traveller
must face alone, taking naught with him. And it was characteristic of
the m