Then she murmured, pantingly, to her companion, 'We must go in—we must go in!'
'What will you do, when it's locked?' he inquired.
'You must break it down.'
'It is very expensive,' said Schinkel.
'Don't be abject!' cried the Princess. 'In a house like this the fastenings are certainly flimsy; they will easily yield.'
'And if he is not there—if he comes back and finds what we have done?'
She looked at him a moment through the darkness, which was mitigated only by the small glow proceeding from the chink. 'He is there! Before God, he is there!'
'Schön, schön,' said her companion, as if he felt the contagion of her own dread but was deliberating and meant to remain calm. The Princess assured him that one or two vigorous thrusts with his shoulder would burst the bolt—it was sure to be some wretched morsel of tin—and she made way for him to come close. He did so, he even leaned against the door, but he gave no violent push, and the Princess waited, with her hand against her heart. Schinkel apparently was still deliberating. At last he gave a low sigh. 'I know they found him the pistol; it is only for that,' he murmured; and the next moment Christina saw him sway sharply to and fro in the gloom. She heard a crack and saw that the lock had yielded. The door collapsed: they were in the light; they were in a small room, which looked full of things. The light was that of a single candle on the mantel; it was so poor that for a moment she made out nothing definite. Before that moment was over, however, her eyes had attached themselves to the small bed. There was something on it—
