fourth floor, that he was at work, and that the
coast was clear. Softly, in the felt slippers she always wore, as she
explained, in order not to disturb the wounded, she mounted the
staircase. In her hand she carried the housekeeper's keys, and as an
excuse it was her plan to return with an armful of linen for the
arriving Sisters. But Marie never reached the top of the stairs. When
her eyes rose to the level of the fourth floor she came to a sudden
halt. At what she saw terror gripped her, bound her hand and foot, and
turned her blood to ice.

At her post for an instant Madame Benet had slept, and an officer of
the staff, led by curiosity, chance, or suspicion, had, unobserved and
unannounced, mounted to the fourth floor. When Marie saw him he was in
front of the room that held the wireless. His back was toward her, but
she saw that he was holding the door to the room ajar, that his eye was
pressed to the opening, and that through it he had pushed the muzzle of
his automatic. What would be the fate of Anfossi Marie knew. Nor did
she for an instant consider it. Her thoughts were of her own safety;
that she might live.

Not that she might still serve the Wilhelmstrasse, the Kaiser, or the
Fatherland; but that she might live. In a moment Anfossi would be
denounced, the chateau would ring with the alarm, and, though she knew
Anfossi would not betray her, by others she might be accused. To avert
suspicion from herself she saw only one way open. She must be the
first to denounce Anfossi.

Like a deer, she leaped down the marble stairs and, in a panic she had
no need to assume, burst into the presence of the staff.

"Gentlemen!" she gasped, "my servant--the chauffeur--Briand is a spy!
There is a German wireless in the chateau. He is using it! I have seen
him." With exclamations, the officers rose to their feet. General
Andre alone remained seated. General Andre was a veteran of many
Colonial wars: Cochin-China, Algiers, Morocco. The great war, when it
came, found him on duty in the Intelligence Department. His aquiline
nose, bristling white eyebrows, and flashing, restless eyes gave him
his nickname of l'Aigle.

In amazement, the flashing eyes were now turned upon Marie. He glared
at her as though he thought she suddenly had flown mad.

"A German wireless!" he protested. "It is impossible!"

"I was on the fourth floor," panted Marie, "collecting linen for the
Sisters. In the room next to the linen