it may not
appear very smart." And I pulled up.

With a light merry laugh she consented, and I got out the garment in
question, helped her into it over her coat, and though a trifle tight
across the chest, she at once declared that it was a most excellent
idea. She was, indeed, a merry child of Paris, and allowed me to button
the coat, smiling the while at my masculine clumsiness.

Then we continued on our way, and a few moments later were going for all
we were worth over the dry, well-kept, level road eastward, towards the
Belgian frontier. She laughed and chatted as the hours went by. She had
been in London last spring, she told me, and had stayed at the Savoy.
The English were so droll, and lacked _cachet_, though the hotel was
smart--especially at supper.

"We pass Douai," she remarked presently, after we had run rapidly
through many villages and small towns. "I must call for a telegram."
And then, somehow, she settled down into a thoughtful silence.

At Arras I pulled up, and got her a glass of hot milk. Then on again,
for she declared that she was not hungry, and preferred getting to
Brussels than to linger on the road. On the broad highway to Douai
we went at the greatest speed that I could get out of the fine
six-cylinder, the engines beating beautiful time, and the car running
as smoothly as a watch. The clouds of whirling dust became very bad,
however, and I was compelled to goggle, while the talc-fronted veil
adequately protected my sweet-faced travelling-companion.

At Douai she descended and entered the post-office herself, returning
with a telegram and a letter. The latter she handed to me, and I found
it was addressed in my name, and had been sent to the Poste-restante.

Tearing it open in surprise, I read the hastily pencilled lines it
contained--instructions in the Count's handwriting which were extremely
puzzling, not to say disconcerting. The words I read were:--

"After crossing the frontier you will assume the name of
Count de Bourbriac, and Valentine will pass as the Countess.
A suitable suite of rooms has been taken for you at the
Grand Hotel, Brussels, where you will find your luggage on
your arrival. Mademoiselle will supply you with funds. I
shall be in Brussels, but shall not approach you.--B. DI F."

The pretty Valentine who was to pose as my wife crushed the blue
telegram into her coat-pocket, mounted into her seat, wrapped her rug
around her, and order