"
"Oh, no! I would rather go on working."
She went slowly down the stairs, Martini following
in silence. She had grown to look ten years
older in these few days, and the gray streak across
her hair had widened into a broad band. She
mostly kept her eyes lowered now; but when, by
chance, she raised them, he shivered at the horror
in their shadows.
In the little parlour she found a clumsy-looking
man standing with his heels together in the middle
of the floor. His whole figure and the half-frightened
way he looked up when she came in,
suggested to her that he must be one of the Swiss
guards. He wore a countryman's blouse, which
evidently did not belong to him, and kept glancing
round as though afraid of detection.
"Can you speak German?" he asked in the
heavy Zurich patois.
"A little. I hear you want to see me."
"You are Signora Bolla? I've brought you a
letter."
"A--letter?" She was beginning to tremble,
and rested one hand on the table to steady herself.
"I'm one of the guard over there.
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