ide, sunny sitting-room as Neeland descended.

"I overslept," explained the young American, "and I'm nearly starved.
Is Mademoiselle Carew having tea?"

"Mademoiselle requested tea for two, sir, in case you should awake,"
said the old man solemnly.

Neeland watched him fussing about with cloth and table and silver.

"Have you any news?" he asked after a moment.

"Very little, Monsieur Neeland. The police have ordered all Germans
into detention camps--men, women, and children. It is said that there
are to be twelve great camps for these unfortunates who are to
assemble in the Lycee Condorcet for immediate transportation."

Neeland thought of Ilse Dumont. Presently he asked whether any message
had been received from the Princess Mistchenka.

"Madame the Princess telephoned from Havre at four o'clock this
afternoon. Mademoiselle Carew has the message."

Neeland, reassured, nodded:

"No other news, Marotte?"

"The military have taken our automobiles from the garage, and have
requisitioned the car which Madame la Princess is now using, ordering
us to place it at their disposal as soon as it returns from Havre.
Also, Monsieur le Capitaine Sengoun has telephoned from the Russian
Embassy, but Mademoiselle Carew would not permit Monsieur to be
awakened."

"What did Captain Sengoun say?"

"Mademoiselle Carew received the message."

"And did anyone else call me up?" asked Neeland, smiling.

"_Il y avait une fe--une espece de dame_," replied the old man
doubtfully, "--who named herself Fifi la Tzigane. I permitted myself
to observe to her," added the butler with dignity, "that she had the
liberty of writing to you what she thought necessary to communicate."

He had arranged the tea-table. Now he retired, but returned almost
immediately to decorate the table with Cloth of Gold roses.

Fussing and pottering about until the mass of lovely blossoms suited
him, he finally presented himself to Neeland for further orders, and,
learning that there were none, started to retire with a
self-respecting dignity that was not at all impaired by the tears
which kept welling up in his aged eyes, and which he always winked
away with a _demi-tour_ and a discreet cough correctly stifled by his
dry and wrinkled hand.

As he passed out the door Neeland said:

"Are you in trouble, Marotte?"

The old man straightened up, and a fierce pride blazed for a moment
from his faded eyes:

"Not trouble, monsieur; but--when one has three s