Booth Tarkington and Harry Leon Wilson

“ She whirled about, there was the guick frou-frou of silken skirts—and then the door closed softly upon an empty compartment.
Baxter's voice came guardedly from the other side. “Hardy! I say, Hardy! Why don't you come with us?”
“No,” Hardy answered, scarcely above a whisper—his mouth was dry and parched, he could barely speak. “No, I go the other way.”
The train was moving. He dropped to the platform. The carriages began to slip by him faster and faster. Some one leaned from a window and lifted his hat. It was the Prince De Savergne. ”

“ Where are those two generals?”
“The prince sent for Chabrol and the servants,” explained Hardy, his eyes fixed avidly upon Nancy. “The guard is withdrawn.”
“It's a providence,” cried Nancy excitedly, “clearing the coast himself just at this moment—just when we needed them out of the way! There's nothing to fear now. Our enemy himself has saved us. Go, Menga!”
The woman started to obey, but halted uncertainly at the unexpected appearance of the prince and Chabrol, both in hats and light overcoats. ”

“ Baxter will lower the window on the far side of your compartment, open the door, and you will all step out; while I remain on the footboard, completely blocking the view from the platform as I lean in to say my adieus—in case Chabrol, at the last instant, should be sent down the platform to make assurance doubly sure. You have only to cross the track and pass through the waiting room on the other platform to your automobile, which is standing there. The prince will be on the way to Brussels, on an express that makes no stops. ”