ting
beyond the Lauter."

"Wissembourg?"

"I think so. They are nearer now. Monsieur de Nesville, the
battle has gone against the French."

"How do you know?" demanded the marquis, harshly.

"I have seen battles. One need only listen and look at the army
yonder. They will pass Morteyn; I think they will pass for miles
through the country. It looks to me like a retreat towards Metz,
but I am not sure. The throngs of troops below are fugitives, not
the regular geometrical figures that you see to the north. Those
are regiments and divisions moving towards the west in good
order."

The two men stepped back into the room and faced each other.

"After the rain the flood, after the rout the invasion," said
Jack, firmly. "You cannot know it too quickly. You know it now,
and you can make your plans."

He was thinking of Lorraine's safety when he spoke, but the
marquis turned instinctively to a mass of machinery and chemical
paraphernalia behind him.

"You will have your hands full," said Jack, repressing an angry
sneer; "if you wish, my aunt De Morteyn will charge herself with
Mademoiselle de Nesville's safety."

"True, Lorraine might go to Morteyn," murmured the marquis,
absently, examining a smoky retort half filled with a silvery
heap of dust.

"Then, may I drive her over after dinner?"

"Yes," replied the other, indifferently.

Jack started towards the stairs, hesitated, and turned around.

"Your inventions are not safe, of course, if the German army
comes. Do you need my help?"

"My inventions are my own affair," said the marquis, angrily.

Jack flushed scarlet, swung on his heels, and marched out of the
room and down the stairs. On the lower steps he met Lorraine's
maid, and told her briefly to pack her mistress's trunks for a
visit to Morteyn.

Lorraine was waiting for him at the window where he had left her,
a scared, uncertain little maid in truth.

"The battle is very near, isn't it?" she asked.

"No, miles away yet."

"Did you speak to papa? Did he send word to me? Does he want me?"

He found it hard to tell her what message her father had sent,
but he did.

"I am to go to Morteyn? Oh, I cannot! I cannot! Papa will be
alone here!" she said, aghast.

"Perhaps you had better see him," he said, almost bitterly.

She hurried away up the stairs; he heard her little eager feet on
the stone steps that led to the turret; climbing up, up, up,
until the sound was lost in the upper stories of th