"
"You will require money and a few clothes. I can get you a passage
to Riga or to Helsingborg to-night. From there you can communicate
with your daughter. Events will follow each other rapidly. One
never knows what a week may bring forth in time of war. It may be
safe for you to return soon. Come, monsieur, we must go."
Sebastian made a gesture with his outspread arms, half of
protestation, half of acquiescence. It was plain that he had no
sympathy with these modern, hurried methods of meeting the
emergencies of daily life. A valise, packed and strapped, lay on
the table. D'Arragon weighed it in his hand, and then lifted it to
his shoulder.
"Come, monsieur," he repeated leading the way through Barlasch's
room to the yard. "And you," he added, addressing himself to that
soldier, "shut the door behind us."
With another gesture of protest Sebastian gathered his cloak round
him and followed. D'Arragon had taken Desiree so literally at her
word that he allowed her father no time for hesitation, nor a moment
to say farewell.
She was alone in the kitchen before she had realized that they were
going. In a minute Barlasch returned. She could hear him setting
in order the room which had been hurriedly disorganized in order to
open the door leading to the yard, where her father had concealed
himself. He was muttering to himself as he lifted the furniture.
Coming back into the kitchen, he found Desiree standing where he had
left her.
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