He smiled feebly. She was holding his hand, still weeping. A memory returned vividly. A man with blazing eyes. He had lost his temper. But there had been something more than that. Two imbeciles fighting over a thing that had died for both of them. Clowns at each other's throat. A background unfolded itself. Against it he lay watching the two men. Here was something like a quaint old print with a title, "Fate...." "Bumped my head," he murmured. But another thought persisted. It moved through the pain in his skull, unable to straighten itself into lines of words. It was something about fighting for Rachel. He would ask questions. "What happened, Mathilde? Where'd he go?" "You mean the man? 'Shh.... Don't talk now." "Come, don't be silly." The thinness of his voice surprised him. "What became of the fool?" "He's dead." "Dead?" "Yes, you shot him. Now be quiet." "Good God, so I did. I remember. When he jumped at me." A sinking feeling almost drifted him away. He felt as if he had become hungry. The man was dead.... "I killed him. Well ... what of it?" He opened his eyes and looked at the room. It was day--afternoon, perhaps. "The doctor says you'll be all right in a few days. But you must be quiet...." "Von Stinnes," he murmured. "There'll be trouble. Call him, will you?" Mathilde turned away. Now the pain was less. He could hear cheering outside. A demonstration. Workingmen marching under new flags. "Von Stinnes is under arrest, Erik." "What for? A new government?" What a crazy business. "No. Don't talk, please. Later...." He was too weak to sit up. "Things will have to be straightened out," he muttered. "The fool was an American officer. There'll be trouble." "No, don't worry. Von Stinnes has fixed things." His eyes grew heavy and closed. Sleep ... and let things, fixed or unfixed, go to the devil. When he awoke again the room was lighted. Mathilde, standing by the window, turned as he stirred. "Are you awake?" "Yes, and hungry." She brought a tray to his bed. He raised himself carefully, his head unbearably heavy. Mathilde watched him with wide eyes as he sipped some broth. "What did they arrest the Baron for?" he asked. She waited till he had finished, and cleared the bed, sitting down on the edge. Her face lowered toward him till her lips touched and kissed him. "For murder," she whispered. Another kiss. "Now you must be quiet and I'll tell you. He gave himself up when the police came. We carried you out first. And then I left him." "But," Dorn looked bewilderedly into the eyes of the girl. "It was easier for him than for you. They would take you away for trial to America. But he will be tried here. And he will come out all right. Don't worry. We thought your skull was fractured, but the doctor says it was only a hard blow." She lowered her head beside him on the pillow and whispered, "I love you! Poor Erik! He is defenseless--with a broken head."