s
hospital had spoken of her having given free treatment in her Home
to Germans who needed immediate operations, and for whom there was
no room in the military hospitals--And for such a trivial offence as
_that_--and to kill her before there could be any appeal for
reconsideration or clemency. Oh _what_ a nation! She would tend
their sick and wounded no more.

She hurried on up the ascent of the Boulevard of the Botanic Garden
on her way to the Rue Royale. She burst into von Giesselin's office.
He was not there. A clerk looking at her rather closely said that
the Herr Oberst was packing, was going away. Vivie scarcely took in
the meaning of his German phrases. She waited there, her eyes
ablaze, feeling she must tell her former friend and protector what
she thought of his people before she renounced any further
relations with him.

Presently he entered, his usually rather florid face pale with
intense sorrow or worry, his manner preoccupied. She burst out:
"_Have_ you seen the Red Placard they have just put up?"

"What about?" he said wearily.

"The assassination by your Government of Edith Cavell, a crime for
which England--yes, and America--will _never_ forgive you.... From
this moment I--"

"But have you not heard what has happened to _me_? I am _dismissed_
from my post as Secretary, I am ordered to rejoin my regiment in
Lorraine--It is very sad about your Miss Cavell. I knew nothing of
it till this morning when I received my own dismissal--And _oh_ my
dear Miss, I fear we shall never meet again."

"Why are they sending you away?" asked Vivie drily, compelled to
interest herself in his affairs since they so closely affected her
own and her mother's.

"Because of this," said von Giesselin, nearly in tears, pulling from
a small portfolio a press cutting. "Do you remember a fortnight ago
I told you some one, some Belgian had written a beautiful poem and
sent it to me for one of our newspapers? I showed it to you at the
time and you said--you said 'it was well enough, but it did not seem
to have much point.'" Vivie did remember having glanced very
perfunctorily at some effusion in typewriting which had seemed
unobjectionable piffle. She hadn't cared two straws whether he
accepted it or not, only did not want to be too markedly
indifferent. Now she took it up and still read it through
uncomprehendingly, her thoughts absent with the fate of Miss Cavell.
"Well! what is all the fuss about? I still see nothing in it