SOPHY OF KRAVONIA
"It'll be all over the country soon," said Markart with a rueful smile.
"Well, after all, Monsieur Zerkovitch is a journalist, and journalists don't spare even themselves, you know. And you're not a reticent person, are you? Don't you remember all the information you gave me once?"
"Ah, on the terrace of the Hôtel de Paris! Much has happened since then, Baroness."
"Much always happens, if you keep your eyes open," said Sophy.
"If you keep yours open, nothing happens for me but looking at them."
She laughed merrily; a compliment never displeased Sophy, and she could bear it very downright.
"But if I were to shut my eyes, what would you do then?"
He looked doubtfully at her mocking face; she meant a little more than the idle words naturally carried.
"I don't think you'll give me the chance of considering, Baroness." He indicated her costume with a gesture of his hand. "You've entered the service, I see?"
"Yes, Captain Markart, the King's service. We are brethren—you serve him, too?"
"I have that honor." Markart flushed under her laughing scrutiny.
"We fight shoulder to shoulder then. Well, not quite. I'm a gunner, you see."
"Minus your guns, at present!"
"Not for long!" She turned round and swept her arms out towards the lake and the hills. "It's a day to think of nothing—just to go riding, riding, riding!" Her laugh rang out in merry longing.
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