st, while I go in and see the officer in
command." The corporal she had first spoken with beckoned her into
the pretty sitting-room at the back where they had had their early
breakfast that morning.

Here she saw seated at a table consulting plans of Brussels and
other papers a tall, handsome man of early middle age, who might
indeed have passed for a young man, had he not looked very tired and
care-worn and exhibited a bald patch at the back of his head,
rendered the more apparent because the brown-gold curls round it
were dank with perspiration. He rose to his feet, clicked his heels
together and saluted. "An English young lady, I am told, rather ...
a ... surprise ... on ... the ... outskirts ... of Brussels..." (His
English was excellent, if rather staccato and spaced.) "It ... is
... not ... usual ... for ... Englishwomen ... to ... be owners ...
of chateaux ... in Belgium. But I ... hear ... it ... is ... your
mother ... who is the owner ... from long time, and you are her
daughter newly arrived from England? Nicht wahr? Sie verstehen nicht
Deutsch, gnaediges Fraulein?"

"No," said Vivie, "I don't speak much German, and fortunately you
speak such perfect English that it is not necessary."

"I have stayed some time in England," was the reply; "I was once
military attache in London. Both your voice and your face seem--what
should one say? Familiar to me. Are you of London?"

"Yes, I suppose I may say I am a Londoner, though I believe I was
born in Brussels. But I don't want to beat about the bush: there is
so much to be said and explained, and all this time I am very
anxious about my mother. She is in the hall outside--feels a little
faint I think with shock--might she--might I?"--

"But my dear Miss--?"

"Miss Warren--"

"My dear Miss Warren, of course. We are enemies--pour le moment--but
we Germans are not monsters. ("What about those peasants' stories?"
said Vivie to herself.) Your lady mother must come in here and take
that fauteuil. Then we can talk better at our ease."

Vivie got up and brought her mother in.

"Now you shall tell me everything--is it not so? Better to be quite
frank. A la guerre comme a la guerre. First, you are English?"

"Yes. My mother is Mrs. Warren, I am her daughter, Vivien Warren. My
mother has lived many years in Belgium, though also in other places,
in Germany, Austria and France. Of late, however, she has lived
entirely here. This place belongs to her."

"And you?"