A FRENCHMAN AND A MATTRESS
and be shot down by Sterkoff's guard. Only a Frenchman would have thought of the mattress!
He made land a quarter of a mile below the Palace. Ah, it was colder on the road there than struggling with the cold water! But his spirit was not quenched. He laughed again—a trifle hysterically, perhaps. In spite of Sterkoff he was spending the evening out! He set his feet for Slavna—briskly, too! Nay, he ran, for warmth's sake, and because of what the sentry might even now be reporting to Sterkoff, and, through him, to General Stenovics. The thought brought him to a stand-still again; there might be a cordon of sentries across the road! After a moment's hesitation he broke away from the main road, struck due south, and so ran when he could, walked when he must, two miles.
He was getting terribly tired now, but not cold—rather he was feverishly hot inside his clammy garments. He turned along a country cross-road which ran west, and passed through a village, leaving the Hotel de Paris on the main road far to his right. At last he reached the main road south and turned up it, heading again for Slavna and for the bridge which crossed the South River. He passed the bridge without being challenged as the Cathedral clock struck midnight from St. Michael's Square. The worst of his task was accomplished. If now he could find Zerkovitch!
But he was sore spent; running was out of the question now; he slunk slowly and painfully along the south boulevard, clinging close to the fences of the gardens, seeking the shelter of the trees which overhung them.
Draggled, hatless, dirty, infinitely weary, at last he reached Zerkovitch's house at the corner where
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