"French officers, madame. Is the _patronne_ at home?" "I cannot see you," said the voice, evading the question. The colonel placed himself so as to be visible through the narrow aperture. "Attendez!" said the voice. The door closed again. A minute or two of waiting in the chill, misty air and once more the door opened, this time fully. "Entrez, monsieur!" said the voice. He found himself in a large lofty hall, dimly illumined by the candle held by a little bent old woman. "Par ici, monsieur!" she said. She led him through salon after salon. In the flickering light he could only just discern that they were richly furnished. At last she stopped and tapped at a closed door. He was admitted into an apartment of costly and tasteful comfort, lit with warm soft radiance from a shaded pedestal lamp. Pine logs were burning on the hearth of a high stone fireplace. To one side stood a grand piano. A great dog, stretched before the hearth, growled surlily. These were salient details he was scarcely conscious of noting. His eyes were held by the woman who rose from an arm-chair by the fire. Tall, gowned simply in a long robe of soft pale green, the lamplight shimmered on the waved masses of her auburn hair as she moved. Not vulgarly beautiful--the mouth was large, though well-cut--an oval ivory-white face looked into his. No longer very young--she was at least thirty--her instantly felt charm came accentuated by a hint of incomplete maturity. Those quiet eyes could still look at life with a questioning scrutiny, receptive of the new experience. They met his now and a personality leaped into them, communed with him ere yet a word had been uttered. Outwardly, only, they were still strangers. He noticed that she wore no jewellery as he bowed courteously, fez in hand. "Madame, I am the colonel of the --th Regiment of Zouaves. A necessity, that must be disagreeable to you, forces me to ask your hospitality for my officers and men." "For to-night only?" Her voice was singularly deep and rich. "Perhaps for several, madame." "You are many?" "Eleven hundred men and twenty officers." "A strong battalion!" "Three battalions, madame," he corrected gently. The expression of the eyes, which had never left his, changed slightly. The wordless, languageless message they were exchanging with his own was interrupted. "Ah," she said in a voice of sympathy. "You come from the battle? From the Marne?" "Yes, madame. We were on the Ourcq. Since then, on the Aisne." Her face lit up.