hateau and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the
little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate. A group
of officers who had been sitting on the grass, reading a newspaper, came
forward to meet them and John, to his amazement and delight, recognized
the young prince, von Arnheim. It was impossible for him to regard von
Arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart
he said:

"I had to leave you for a while. It had become irksome to be a prisoner,
but you see I've come back."

Von Arnheim stared, then recognition came.

"Ah, it's Scott, the American! I speak truth when I say that I'm sorry
to see you here."

"I'm sorry to come," said John, "but I'd rather be your prisoner than
anybody else's, and I wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the
young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes,
the sister of that great French aviator of whom everybody has heard."

"I'll do what I can, but you're mistaken in assuming that I'm in command
here. There's a higher personage--but pardon me, I must speak to the
lieutenant."

The officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report
and have done with an unpleasant duty. Von Arnheim gave him rapid
directions in German and then asked Julie and the two Picards to
dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate
and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.

John saw von Arnheim's eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty
of young Julie, but the Prussian was a man of heart and manner. He
lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying:

"It's an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our
prisoner, Mademoiselle Lannes. In this chateau you must consider
yourself a guest, and not a captive. It would not become us to treat
otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother."

John noticed that he paid her no direct compliment. It was indirect,
coming through her brother, and he liked von Arnheim better than ever,
because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful. The brown dress
and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red
light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the
tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood. She was
beautiful beyond compare, John repeated to himself, but scarcely more
than a child, and she had come into strange places. The stalwart Su