"It is just an ordinary-looking package. The station will be under a guard and all the roads coming in, too. They are expecting the revolution and ..." She paused and grew red. Dorn's eyes were looking at her banteringly. "You are thinking I have tricked you," she cried, "and that it was only to use you as a ... as a carrier that I ... Well, perhaps it is true. I do not know myself. I told you you could have me. Yes, I give myself to you now ... now.... Do you hear?" She laughed with bitterness. "I have never given myself before. I would rather you smiled and were kind. But if you wish to laugh ... and call it a bargain ... it does not matter." She had stepped away from him and stood with kindled eyes, waiting. "One can be chivalrous in the absence of all other impulses, Mathilde. And all other impulses have expired in me. So I will take the package. We will start to-morrow early. And as for the rest ... I will spare you the tedium of martyrdom." He moved toward the door. "Come, we'll go downstairs. Von Stinnes will be getting impatient." Mathilde came to him swiftly. He caught a glimpse of her face lighted, and her arms circled his neck. She was looking at him without words. A coldness dropped into his heart. There had been three of them before--he, Mathilde, and a phantom. Now there were only Mathilde and himself. "She was not tricking," he thought, and felt pleased. "At least not consciously." Her arms fell from him and she stared frightenedly. "Forgive me, Erik. I thought you loved me. And I would have liked to make you happy...." He nodded and opened the door. CHAPTER VI They sat in the compartment of the train crawling into Munich. The Baron drooped with sleep. Dorn stared wearily out of the window. Springtime. A beginning of green in the fields and over the roll of hills. Formal sunlight upon factories with an empty holiday frown in their windows. "I hear shooting," he smiled at Mathilde. "We're probably in time." The girl nodded. Despite the sleepless night sitting upright in the compartment, her eyes were fresh and alive. The desultory crack of a rifle drifting out of the town as if to greet them brought an impatience into her manner. The train was moving slowly. "Yes, we're in time," she murmured. "See, the white guards are still in possession." A group of soldiers with white sleeve-bands over the gray-green of their uniforms passed in an empty street. "There will be white guards at the station, too," she went on. "The attack will come to-night. It must." She looked intently at von Stinnes who, opening his eyes suddenly, whispered, "Ah, Mathilde ... there was once another München...." An uproar in the station. A scurry of guards and soldiers. White sleeve-bands. Machine-guns behind heaped bags of sand. A halloo of orders across the arc of the spacious shed. Passengers pouring out of the newly arrived train, smiling, weeping, staring indifferently.