Once they had walked
a long way homeward in the dawn, Rosek with them, Fiorsen playing on his
muted violin, to the scandal of the policemen and the cats. Dim, unreal
memories! Grasping Betty's arm more firmly, she rang the bell. When the
man servant, whom she remembered well, opened the door, her lips were so
dry that they could hardly form the words:
"Is Mr. Fiorsen in, Ford?"
"No, ma'am; Mr. Fiorsen and Count Rosek went into the country this
afternoon. I haven't their address at present." She must have turned
white, for she could hear the man saying: "Anything I can get you,
ma'am?"
"When did they start, please?"
"One o'clock, ma'am--by car. Count Rosek was driving himself. I should
say they won't be away long--they just had their bags with them." Gyp
put out her hand helplessly; she heard the servant say in a concerned
voice: "I could let you know the moment they return, ma'am, if you'd
kindly leave me your address."
Giving her card, and murmuring:
"Thank you, Ford; thank you very much," she grasped Betty's arm again
and leaned heavily on her going down the stairs.
It was real, black fear now. To lose helpless
things--children--dogs--and know for certain that one cannot get
to them, no matter what they may be suffering! To be pinned down to
ignorance and have in her ears the crying of her child--this horror,
Gyp suffered now.
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