'I don't care,' he answered, a little doggedly. 'It's all very well for us men to take a risk or two, but it's no sort of life for a girl----' She checked him at once. 'You don't understand,' she interrupted. 'I am a daughter of France. Every drop of blood in my body, every part of myself, my soul, even, belongs to my country. The work I am doing I shall go on with, whatever it might cost me.' He did not attempt to argue with her, the finality of her tone was too absolute. 'I suppose it is because of this spirit,' he said, 'that France is invincible. Tell me----' He broke off in his sentence. Her fingers had suddenly gripped his arm, she had leaned forward in her place. Coming down the steps on to the terrace was a little group of soldiers in staff uniform. One of them, in the centre of the group, was obviously a foreigner, and, from the respect with which they all treated him, a person of distinction. 'Who are they?' she asked. 'I expect they are members of the military mission from France,' he explained. 'They are being entertained down here to dinner to-night by some officials from the War Office. The head-waiter told me about it. I tackled him about a table in case you cared to stay down.' 'But only one of them is a foreigner,' she observed. He shrugged his shoulders. 'I really don't know anything more about it,' he said. 'I don't suppose any one does. Why are you so interested?' She said nothing for a moment. The Frenchman was standing chatting amiably in the centre of the terrace, and Suzanne watched him with curious intensity. He was tall, he had a slight black moustache, his eyes were long and narrow, there was a scar on his right cheek. He was the very prototype of the man who had arisen in her mind a few hours ago, called into being by those hoarse, broken-hearted words of the ruined General. 'I must know his name,' she insisted. He looked at her wonderingly. 'But, my dear----' 'I must know his name,' she repeated. 'Please help me. Don't ask me why.' He rose at once. 'I'll do my best,' he promised her. He disappeared into the house. The little party of men strolled backwards and forwards along the terrace. In about five minutes Lavendale reappeared. He smiled as he approached. 'I got hold of the dinner cards,' he announced in triumph. 'His name is Lieutenant-Colonel Leychelles.' The little company of soldiers at that moment began to descend the steps. Suzanne rose to her feet and, standing under the shadow of the trees, she leaned forward. The man whom she had been watching with so much interest, was distinctly swinging his left arm. She gripped Lavendale by the elbow. 'Come with me,' she insisted. 'Come with me at once. Take me up to town.' He obeyed promptly. They passed through the house and Lavendale ordered up his car. 'Where to?' he asked, as he took his place at the driving wheel.