. His spotless linen, his neat sack-coat and
trousers of gray seemed part of him--like a loose outer skin. There
was in his ensemble nothing to disturb the negative harmony, save
perhaps an abnormal flatness of the instep and hands.

"My friend," he observed, in English, "do you think you will know me
again when you have finished your scrutiny?"

The Countess, face averted, passed behind my chair.

"Wait," said Buckhurst; and turning directly to me, he added: "You
were mistaken for a hussar at La Trappe; you were mistaken here for a
hussar as long as the squad holding this house remained in Morsbronn.
A few moments ago the provost mistook you for a civilian." He looked
across at the Countess, who already stood with her hand on the
door-knob.

"If you disturb me," he said, "I have only to tell the provost the
truth. Members of the Imperial Police caught without proper uniform
inside German lines are shot, seance tenante."

The Countess stood perfectly still a moment, then came straight to
me.

"Is that true?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She still leaned forward, looking down into my face. Then she turned
to Buckhurst.

"Do you want money?" she asked.

"I want a chair--and your attention for the present," he replied, and
seated himself.

The printed copy of the rules handed me by the provost marshal lay on
the floor. Buckhurst picked up the sheet, glanced at the Prussian
eagle, and thoughtfully began rolling the paper into a grotesque
shape.

"Sit down, madame," he said, without raising his eyes from the bit of
paper which he had now fashioned into a cocked hat.

After a moment's silent hesitation the Countess drew a small gilt
chair beside my sofa-chair and sat down, and again that brave,
unconscious gesture of protection left her steady hand lying lightly
on my arm.

Buckhurst noted the gesture. And all at once I divined that whatever
plan he had come to execute had been suddenly changed. He looked down
at the paper in his hands, gave it a thoughtful twist, and, drawing
the ends out, produced a miniature paper boat.

"We are all in one like that," he observed, holding it up without
apparent interest. He glanced at the young Countess; her face was
expressionless.

"Madame," said Buckhurst, in his peculiarly soft and persuasive
voice, "I am not here to betray this gentleman; I am not here even to
justify myself. I came here to make reparation, to ask your
forgiveness, madame, for the wrong I have d