The little pig eyes of
the senior officer glinted menacingly. "Have a care."

"Pardon, Excellency. For the moment I forgot." With a weary gesture
he got up. "I will ask her this morning." He looked at his watch.
"She should be here very soon."

"Then I will await the result of your interview through here." The
Colonel moved to a door half concealed by a curtain. "You shall have
your turtle dove, Rutter, in peace and quiet." He chuckled harshly.
"You know what we want?"

"By heart, Excellency."

"And you remember that her brother the Comte is not really dead. For
our purposes he is a prisoner."

"I am not likely to forget; but I warn you, Excellency, I have but
little hope of succeeding."

The Colonel's jaw shut like a vice. "Then God help you both, my
friend; God help you both." His voice was soft, but horribly menacing;
and as the curtain dropped behind him, the Kid, who had been listening
spellbound, understood for the first time the type of man who
represented Prussian militarism.

Instinctively his heart warmed towards the Lieutenant, who with a weary
gesture of despair was resting his head on his arms. He was young,
clean cut, almost an Englishman to look at, save for his close-cropped
bristling hair; and, moreover, he was up against it. All the Kid's
sporting instincts rose within him. Boche or no Boche this was not the
type of swine who launched gas and liquid fire on a horror-struck
world. Forgetful of everything he was on the point of going over to
him and telling him to stick it out, when his eyes rested on the
entrance. And there was the girl: the girl he had seen in the corner,
the girl of the jasmine scent. For a while she stood watching the
bowed figure at the table, and then she tip-toed across to him and laid
her hand on his head.

With a quick start he looked up, and into his face there came the light
of all the ages, the light of the man for the woman he loves.

"Marie," he whispered hoarsely. "Marie--_que je t'adore_." He caught
her to him and kissed her on the lips. Then, with a bitter groan, he
pushed her away and sat down again.

"Fritz, what is it?" she cried in wondering tones. "You sent for me,
my dear. Why? I came; but it is not right for me to come to you
here--in your dug-out."

"I was ordered to send for you, my Marie." His French was pure if
guttural.

"Ordered!" An adorable look of amazement came on her face. "And you
liked not this order, my Fri