She turned them on him full of anxious questioning as he came in. He shook his head despondently. "I had no chance of speaking to him. Sokolof never left us for a moment." But he said nothing of that fateful telegram. The load she carried was heavy enough already. Her strained, white face wrung his heart. If the sacrifice of his own life could have smoothed her way he would have given it, willingly and instantly. But he knew that it could not. It was to him that she looked now, and he must live for her, to defend her against the whole world, as he had pledged himself when he married her. "Marya was driving me crazy with her babble," Hope said wearily. "But I could not get her to go. You are quite sure it is Serge, Paul?" "Quite sure, Hope." "Has he suffered much?" "He looks gay and gallant, though I have no doubt he is as anxious as we are." "It is surely a very dangerous thing he is doing." "He is risking life and liberty. But he is a brave man. We must do nothing to add to his risk." "I will be very careful." "Will you not try to sleep for an hour or two, Hope? There will be no rest when once we start." "Sleep! I could as soon think of dying as of sleeping. Which way do we go!" "Up into the Yablonois. Then as Serge may have decided. He has thought out his plans without doubt." "I will get ready the breakfast," she said, starting up again. "It is only twelve o'clock yet," he said, with a wan smile. "Well, some tea, then. One must do something. Will you not try to sleep? You look worn out." "I could not sleep either. We will have some tea." So they sat sipping their tea and making pretence to eat, and Hope jumped up every second minute to do some little job which did not need doing, and Pavlof's teeth ground silently at times, as he thought of that telegram speeding over the steppes, and the possible reply speeding back for their destruction. But he said no word of it to Hope, and when he had got his pipe fairly under way, and the soothing of the tea began to make itself felt, his wits settled down somewhat, and matters began to look more hopeful, as they sometimes have a way of doing when they have touched bottom. He reproached himself as an ingrate for the feelings that would come uppermost in his heart. He tried his very hardest to feel grateful to Serge for his gallant remembrance of him. But he was painfully conscious of a dull sense of regret, of injury almost, at his having come back to life, and in so lively a fashion. Far better if he had left them alone. But then he could not know that. He had gallantly done his best, and in return they were going to break his heart. How would he take it? Hardly, hardly. How could it be otherwise? If only he could have had it all out with Serge before he and Hope met in the morning! But that had been impossible. And it would be hard for Hope too. The sight of Serge's misery would be dreadful to her. The thought of it would darken her life.