She still had her letter of credit. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. "The Dutchman was right, after all. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. ” “You are a marvellous courier,” she declared, as they passed into the street. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. Farewell. "I must go.
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