'This is what happened,' he continued. 'I was at headquarters, my own headquarters. My orderly reported a Staff Officer from the French headquarters. He came in, a typical-looking young French soldier, wearing the uniform of one of their best regiments, one of those which I knew were in the division which was to join up with ours in the morning. He was tall and dark, with a thin, black moustache, long, narrow eyes, a scar on his right cheek, sallow, and with a queer habit of swinging his left arm. He brought me some intelligible, perfectly coherent verbal instructions, asked a few questions as to my plans for the next day, gave me a personal message from the French General commanding the division, saluted, got back into his motor-car and drove off. And I thought no more about it until we found out that our whole scheme of attack was known to the enemy, and that they were prepared for us at every point. He was a German. We were sold. Thousands of my men were lost through that. My fault. He was a German. Are you a German, young lady?' 'Ah, but no!' she exclaimed, shrinking a little back. 'You are not wholly English.' 'I am half French and half English,' she told him. 'The French are good people,' he went on, relapsing into his former far-away tone, 'very fine people. They can fight too, and they can tell Germans when they see them. That is why I am going home--because I couldn't. I've sworn that the next German I see, I'll kill. You're not a German, are you?' 'I told you just now,' she reminded him quietly, 'that I am half French and half English--mostly French. I am in the service of the French Government at the present moment, trying to help you, General.' 'Good girl,' he said absently. 'I thought there might have been a German in here when I heard some one moving. If I can't find one, I suppose I must shoot myself.' He took out a little revolver and examined it. He opened the breech and she saw that it was fully loaded. 'May I look?' she asked. He handed it to her at once. The window by which they sat was half down. She calmly threw it out. He looked at her in a mildly-vexed manner. 'You should not have done that, young lady,' he expostulated. 'I was very fond of that revolver. Besides, how am I to kill myself now?' 'I should wait,' she advised him. 'When you get to London you will easily find Germans--too many of them.' He shook his head. 'But I've nothing to kill them with, and I've left my army behind. I am sent home,' he added, with a sudden hoarse pathos. Her sense of personal fear had passed. She knew that the dangerous moment, if indeed there had been one, lay behind. 'There is so much work to be done in England,' she said. He seemed to be looking through the carriage windows; his hands were twitching horribly.