She got no further. Out of the mass of people just at her elbow the figure of a man emerging, sprang upon the running board of the machine. He seemed to wave his hand, and then there were sounds of shots. The Archduke started up, holding a protecting arm before the body of the Duchess, who had sunk back into her seat, her hand to her breast. The Archduke wavered a moment and then fell forward across the knees of the Duchess.
Of the mad moments which followed, Marishka was barely conscious. She was pushed roughly back into the turgid crowd and would have fallen had not an arm sustained her. Men seized the assassin and hurried him away. There were hoarse shouts, glimpses of soldiers, as the machine of death pushed its way through the mass of people, and always the strong arm sustained her, pushing her, leading her away into a street where there were fewer people and less noise.
"Come, Countess, he brave," Goritz was saying. "God knows you have done what you could."
"It is horrible," she gasped brokenly. "A moment sooner, perhaps, and I should have succeeded. She recognized me--you saw?"
He nodded. "Kismet! It was written," he said grimly.
"But someone must pay--someone--who was----?"
"A Bosnian student--named Prinzep--a man said."
"He has been well taught to shoot," muttered Goritz.
"Death!" she cried hysterically. "And I----"
"Be quiet. People are watching you," said Goritz sternly. "Lean on my arm and go where I shall lead. It is not far."
[Illustration: "Be quiet. People are watching you," said Goritz sternly.]
The sight of strange, distorted faces regarding her gave Marishka the strength to obey. Mechanically her feet moved, but the sunlight blinded her. She passed through a maze of small streets lined with market stalls where groups of people shouted excitedly; and dimly as in a dream she heard their comments.
"The police--we have police--where were they? The Government will be blaming us. We are not murderers! No. It is a shame!"
Marishka shuddered and leaned more heavily upon the arm of her companion. She was weary unto death, body and spirit--but still her feet moved on, out of the maze of small alleys into a larger alley, where her companion stopped before a blue wooden gate let into a stone wall. He put his hand upon the latch, the gate yielded, and they entered a small garden with well ordered walks and a fountain, beside which was a stone bench. Upon this bench at the bidding of Captain Goritz she sank, burying her face in her hands, while he went toward the house, which had its length at one side of the garden. She put her fingers before her eyes trying to shut out the horrors she had witnessed, but they persisted, ugly and sinister. Over and over in her mind dinned the hoarse murmur of the crowd, "We are not murderers! No!" Who then----? Not the frail student with the smoking pistol ... the agent of others.... The eyes of Sophie Chotek haunted her--eyes that had looked so often into her own with kindness. She had seen terror in them, and then--the mad turmoil, the dust, the acrid smell of powder fumes, and the silent group of huddled figures in the machine!...