Now, overnight, this had been changed. The machinery was to be put to other uses. Ships that had been carrying silks were needed for men with rifles. Railroads were for troops. The sweat of men was to be in battle. Servants were to be used for the slaughter of other servants. With nations at one another's throats, the very basis of credit, mutual trust and esteem, was gone. She and others like her did not count. Men with the lust for blood in their hearts could not bother with them. They might sit in their rooms and sob, or they might starve. It did not much matter. A check was only a bit of paper. Under such conditions it might be good or not. Gold was what counted--gold and men. Broad backs counted, and stout legs. Monte took a deep breath. Now--it might be possible that he would count. It was so that his grandfather had counted. He had fought his way across a continent and back for just such another woman as Marjory. Life had been primitive then. It was primitive now. Men and women were forced to stand together and take the long road side by side. The blood rushed to Monte's head. He must get to her at once. She would need him now--if only for a little while. He must carry her home. She could not go without him. He started down the steps of the bank, two at a time, and almost ran against her. She was on her way to the bank as he had been, in search of gold. Her eyes greeted him with the welcome her lips would not. "You see!" he exclaimed, with a quick laugh. "When you need me I come." She was dressed in the very traveling costume she had worn when they left Paris together. She was wearing, too, the same hat. It might have been yesterday. "They refused my check at the hotel," she explained nervously. "They say they must have gold." "Have you any?" he asked. "One louis d'or." "And I have ten," he informed her. She did not understand why he should be so exultant over this fact. "I have come here to get enough to pay my bill and buy my ticket. I am leaving this morning." "They won't give you any," he explained. "Besides, they won't carry you on the train unless you put on a uniform." "Monte!" "It's a fact." "Then--what am I to do?" She looked quite helpless--deliciously helpless. He laughed joyously. "You are bankrupt," he said. "So am I. We have only fifty-five dollars between us. But that is something. Also there is the machine. That will take us over the Italian frontier and to Genoa. I ought to be able to sell it there for something. Come on." "Where?" she asked. "We must get the car as soon as possible. I have a notion that with every passing hour it is going to be more difficult to get out." "But I'm not going with you, Monte. It's--it's impossible!" "It's the only way, little woman."