uched
from the various stations. When the musicians paused for sheer lack of
breath the soldiers bawled "_Deutschland, Deutschland, ueber alles_" or
"_Die Wacht am Rhine_" at the top of their voices. The uproar was, as
the Germans love to say, colossal. The enthusiasm was colossal too.
Aix-la-Chapelle might have been celebrating a great national festival.
It seemed ludicrous to regard the community as in the throes of war. The
populace, the officers, even the heavy-jowled peasants who formed the
majority of the regiments then hurrying to the front, seemed to be
intoxicated with joy. Dalroy was surprised at first. He was not prepared
for the savage exultation with which German militarism leaped to its
long-dreamed-of task of conquering Europe.

Irene Beresford, momentarily more alive than he to the exigencies of
their position, bought a common shawl at a shop in a side street, and
threw away her tattered hat with a careless laugh. She was an excellent
actress. The woman who served her had not the remotest notion that this
bright-eyed girl belonged to the hated English race.

The incident brought back Dalroy's vagrom thoughts from German methods
of making war to the serious business which was his own particular
concern. The shop was only a couple of doors removed from the Franz
Strasse; he waited for Irene at the corner, buying some cheap cigars and
a box of matches at a tobacconist's kiosk. He still retained the
lantern, which lent a touch of character. The carriage-cleaner's
breeches were wide and loose at the ankles, and concealed his boots.
Between the sabots and his own heels he had added some inches to his
height, so he could look easily over the heads of the crowd; he was
watching the passing of a battery of artillery when an open automobile
was jerked to a standstill directly in front of him. In the car was
seated Von Halwig.

That sprig of Prussian nobility was in a mighty hurry, but even he dared
not interfere too actively with troops in motion, so, to pass the time
as it were, he rolled his eyes in anger at the crowd on the pavement.

It was just possible that Irene might appear inopportunely, so Dalroy
rejoined her, and led her to the opposite side of the cross street,
where a wagon and horses hid her from the Guardsman's sharp eyes.

Thus it happened that Chance again took the wanderers under her wing.

A short, thick-set Walloon had emptied a glass of schnapps at the
counter of a small drinking-bar whi