Trafford stepped over the snow-bank and examined the "bob." The runners were twisted and half wrenched from the wooden framework. The steering-wheel was jammed, and refused to respond to the most strenuous efforts; the brake-lever was snapped off short. "The midnight express doesn't run any further," he said. "What on earth are we to do?" He answered her question with another. "How's Karl?" The outraged monarch replied in person. "I am tolerably well, thank you," he said. "I have been conscious for some time, and have listened with some amusement to your commiserations of my lot. The little catastrophe which has just occurred has dispelled the last lingering fumes of the chloroform with which you rendered me _hors de combat_." Trafford said nothing, but knitted his brows in perplexed thought. "We are face to face with a very serious problem," he said after a full minute's meditation. "Gloria, are you sufficiently recovered to join me on the path here, or shall I come and help you out of the soft snow?" "I will come to you," she answered, suiting the action to the word, and ploughing her deep way to his side. The blonde moustache had parted company with her fair lips, and her fallen shako had released a charming disorder of dark tresses. In her great overcoat, her nether extremities concealed in the snow, she looked once more what she really was,--a young girl of singularly fascinating aspect. "We can't stay here all night," she said, when she had won her way to the path, "and we cannot well reach the spot where Colonel Schale is awaiting us." Trafford shook his head. "Assuming we could walk so far," he said, "and assuming our friend over there would consent to accompany us, we should be overtaken by the pursuit party they are bound to send after us." "It's all hopeless," she said wearily. "You have lost confidence in my ability to help you out of difficulties?" he asked. "You are resourceful--indomitable almost," she conceded, "but you cannot fight Fate." "I am not trying to." "But I am. Had it not been for this wretched mishap everything would have been splendid; we should have returned to Weidenbruck with Karl our prisoner. I should have been firmly established on my throne, and you----" she broke off suddenly and added a little sadly: "As it is, we are checkmated within sight of victory." "You do not blame me for your disappointment? You concede that I did my best?" His question was dispassionate. She answered it with generous words, but without enthusiasm. "You did more than any other man could have done. Indeed, I am not complaining of you; I am complaining of Fate." "Personally, I have a pathetic and unconquerable confidence in Fate," he retorted.