e house. He
went out to the stables and ordered the dog-cart and a wagon for
her trunks. He did not fear that this order might be premature,
for he thought he had not misjudged the Marquis de Nesville. And
he had not, for, before the cart was ready, Lorraine, silent,
pale, tearless, came noiselessly down the stairs holding her
little cloak over one arm.

"I am to stay a week," she said; "he does not want me." She
added, hastily, "He is so busy and worried, and there is much to
be done, and if the Prussians should come he must hide the
balloon and the box of plans and formula--"

"I know," said Jack, tenderly; "it will lift a weight from his
mind when he knows you are safe with my aunt."

"He is so good, he thinks only of my safety," faltered Lorraine.

"Come," said Jack, in a voice that sounded husky; "the horse is
waiting; I am to drive you. Your maid will follow with the trunks
this evening. Are you ready? Give me your cloak. There--now, are
you ready?"

"Yes."

He aided her to mount the dog-cart--her light touch was on his
arm. He turned to the groom at the horse's head, sprang to the
seat, and nodded. Lorraine leaned back and looked up at the
turret where her father was.

"Allons! En route!" cried Jack, cheerily, snapping his
ribbon-decked whip.

At the same instant a horseless cavalryman, gray with dust and
dripping with blood and sweat, staggered out on the road from
among the trees. He turned a deathly face to theirs, stopped,
tottered, and called out--"Jack!"

"Georges!" cried Jack, amazed.

"Give me a horse, for God's sake!" he gasped. "I've just killed
mine. I--I must get to Metz by midnight--"

XIII

AIDE-DE-CAMP

Lorraine and Jack sprang to the road from opposite sides of the
vehicle; Georges' drawn face was stretched into an attempt at a
smile which was ghastly, for the stiff, black blood that had
caked in a dripping ridge from his forehead to his chin cracked
and grew moist and scarlet, and his hollow cheeks whitened under
the coat of dust. But he drew himself up by an effort and saluted
Lorraine with a punctilious deference that still had a touch of
jauntiness to it--the jauntiness of a youthful cavalry officer in
the presence of a pretty woman.

Old Pierre, who had witnessed the episode from the butler's
window, came limping down the path, holding a glass and a carafe
of brandy.

"You are right, Pierre," said Jack. "Georges, drink it up, old
fellow. There, now you can sta