carried
a small pistol and a dagger.

When she had stepped out on the pavement she glanced quickly up and down
the street. Not even a _polizeidiener_ was in sight, for this
aristocratic quarter was, in peace and war, the quietest part of an
always orderly town. It was evident that the man spied alone.

Holding her head very high, she started across the street; but she had
not taken three steps when the shadow detached itself and walked rapidly
out into the moonlight. She gave a sharp cry and shrank back. It was
Franz von Nettelbeck.

"You--" she stammered. "They sent you--"

"They? And why should I alarm you? Am I so formidable?" He uttered his
short harsh laugh and lifted his cap. His head was bandaged; there was a
deep scar along the outer line of his right cheek. His face was gaunt
and lined; and his shoulders sagged until he suddenly bethought himself
and flung them back with a deathless instinct.

Gisela smiled and gave him her hand with a graceful spontaneity. "The
sense of being watched always shakes the nerves a bit, and I have felt
up to nothing myself for a long time. Why did not you come up to the
window when you recognized me?"

"I was so sure of welcome! And yet as soon as I was fit to travel I came
here to see you. I intended to send in my card to-morrow. But I could
not help haunting your window to-night, and when I had the good fortune
to see you sitting there--with the moon shining on your beautiful
face--"

"My face is no longer beautiful, dear Franz--"

"You are a thousand times more beautiful than ever--"

Something else vibrated along those steel nerves, but she said briskly:
"Standing so long must have tired you. Come in and rest. It is late; but
if there are still conventions in this crashing world I have forgotten
them."

Her rooms were always prepared for a sudden visit of the police. If a
firing squad were her fate it would not have been invited through the
usual channels. Even the arms to be worn on the morrow were in the
cellars and attics of citizens so respectable as almost to be nameless.

He followed her through the common entrance of the apartment house into
her _Saal_. It was a large comfortable room with many deep chairs, and
on the gray walls were a few portraits of her scowling ancestors,
contributed long since by her mother. A tall porcelain stove glowed
softly. Gisela drew the curtains and lit several candles. She disliked
the hard glare of electricity at any time, a