A young Russian soldier entered the room. He wore the uniform of a
Cossack: the high boots, the fur cap and tunic.

To Nona Davis' American eyes the young man seemed a typical Russian of
the better classes. He was extremely handsome, more than six feet tall,
with dark hair and eyes and a colorless skin.

He appeared surprised at Nona's presence, but explained that he was
stationed at the Russian fort where a number of wounded were being cared
for. He remembered having seen Nona and her two friends. They were the
only American nurses in the vicinity, so it was not strange to have
noticed them.

Michael Orlaff was the soldier's name. Sonya spoke it with distinctness,
but gave him no title. Yet evidently they knew each other very well.

A moment later and Nona finally got away. She was late and nervous about
returning to the fortifications alone. Yet as she hurried on she was
thinking over the afternoon until her head ached with the mystery of it.
Perhaps it might be wise if she could avoid meeting this particular
group of people again.

CHAPTER III

_General Alexis_

All that day Mildred Thornton had scarcely left the bedside of her
patient.

For the Russian boy was dying, and as there was no hope for him, Mildred
could only do her best to make him as comfortable as possible.

Now he seemed half asleep, so with her hands folded in her lap the girl
sat near him trying to rest, although unable to keep her mind as quiet
as her hands.

How strange her surroundings! Since her arrival in Europe as a Red Cross
nurse she had lived and worked in two other countries and certainly had
passed through remarkable experiences, yet none of them were to be
compared with these few weeks of nursing in Russia. One might have been
transferred to another planet instead of another land.

As an ordinary American tourist, Mildred had been familiar with Europe
for several years, having spent three summers abroad traveling with her
parents. But this was her first vision of the East, for Russia is
eastern, however she may count herself otherwise.

The American girl now lifted her eyes from the figure of the dying boy
and let them wander down the length of the room which sheltered them.

An immense place, it held rows on rows of other cot beds with white-clad
nurses passing about among them. When they spoke or when the patients
spoke Mildred could rarely guess what was being said, as she knew so few
words of Russian. Yet she