Two little girls, to whom I used to bring chocolates, used to come up in the evening and kiss my hand, wishing me good-night. They thought I was the most amusing governess they had ever met. Their mother, a kind old lady who offered me cough mixtures, must have thought me rather odd, but then she was prepared to make allowances for foreigners, especially in war-time. To have a reason for wishing to be inconspicuous was nothing unusual in those days, whether one was German, Jew, or Greek, or male or female. Of various opportunities that came my way, the most practical and attractive was that suggested by the Russian Colonel. His repatriation to the Caucasus was now only a matter of days. He had not only got his own passport, but also a passport for a servant. That servant was to be myself. In order to discuss plans, we found the safest rendezvous was the open-air cafe of the Petits Champs. This place was crowded with "fashionable" people, and although both he and Miss Whitaker were constantly shadowed by detectives there was nothing at all suspicious in their being seen at tea-time in the company of an elegantly dressed German lady. The German lady was obviously not as young as she tried to appear, but then there was nothing unusual about that. She was also rather _gauche_ in her movements, but this again was not out of keeping with the part. "In a fortnight's time we will be having tea at Tiflis," the Russian Colonel used to say. "I will raise two regiments of cavalry and take them to kill the Bolsheviks. You shall be my adjutant." "With the greatest pleasure in the world, _mon Colonel_. But please do not speak so loud." "Ah, that _sacre_ detective. I had forgotten him. Soon we will not have to think of such things." "Yes, but at the present moment your own particular shadow is trying to listen to what you are saying," I remarked in low tones. At once the Colonel's voice assumed a softer note, and his green eyes began to melt with tenderness. "_Mais Josephine, ma petite, ecoutes donc, je t'adore. . . ._ There, he's passed. Everything is ready. I have got you a Russian soldier's uniform. You have only to put this on, and follow me on board when I go." "And if someone asks me who I am?" "You are my Georgian servant. And you can only speak Georgian. Just say this----" There followed a tongue-twisting sentence, which I tried to memorise. Meanwhile the band played, and people passed, and inquisitive eyes were turned in our direction. "That's a spy who knows me," Miss Whitaker would say. "_Encore une tasse, mademoiselle? Non?_ I think we ought to be going." "We'll settle the final details to-morrow," I whispered. "Right! Remember to let your beard grow. I couldn't have a smooth-faced orderly." "_Eh bien, mille mercis, Colonel_," said I, giving him my hand. He held it a moment, bowing, and looking inexpressible things. "_Ah, Josephine. . . ._" "_A demain, alors!_"