he corporal had called the roll of
names--German, French, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Arab--and had marched
his batch of recruits briskly through the guarded gate. Max would have
hurried Sanda out directly behind them, before the crowd could secure
all the queer, old-fashioned cabs which were waiting, but at that moment
the smart group of officers moved forward. Having shown their guest one
of the sights of Sidi-bel-Abbes, they evidently expected to take
precedence of the townspeople, who gave no sign of disputing their
right. Max, following the example of others and resisting an impulse to
salute, stood back with his companion to let the uniforms pass. Sanda,
pink with excitement, was as usual all unconscious of self, and vividly
interested both in recruits and officers. The latter, especially the
young ones, were equally interested in the pretty, well-dressed girl, a
stranger in Sidi-bel-Abbes and the one woman on the platform.

Max saw the polite but admiring glances, and would have liked to draw
her further away. He bent down to whisper a suggestion, but Sanda did
not hear. Her face, her whole personality, had undergone one of those
swift changes characteristic of her.

With a fluttering cry, she started forward, then stepped nervously back,
and, stumbling against Max's foot, would have fallen if he had not
caught her.

All his attention was for her, yet, with his eyes on the girl, he
suddenly became conscious that something had happened among the
officers. One man had stopped abruptly just in front of Sanda, while
others were going through the gate, hurrying on as if tactfully desirous
to get themselves out of the way. A voice murmured "Mon Dieu!" and
having steadied Sanda, Max saw standing close to them a small, rather
dapper man with a lined brown face, a very square, smooth-shaven jaw,
long gray eyes, short gray hair, and the neat slimness of a West Point
cadet. He had on his sleeve the five gold stripes signifying a colonel's
rank, and was decorated with several medals.

Instantly Max understood the situation. The one thing that ought _not_
to have happened, had happened.

CHAPTER IX

THE COLONEL OF THE LEGION

All Sanda's anxiously laid plans were swept away in the wind of emotion.
She and the father she had meant to win with loving diplomacy had
stumbled upon each other crudely in a railway station. The dear
resemblance upon which she had founded her best hope had struck Colonel
DeLisle like a