“You do not know. They eagerly await the chance, the schweinhunde! See that she has safe conduct, but it must not be known that we have detained her here,” he said, turning to the orderly. “We shall have to give up our quarters and go elsewhere. Tell them, when the woman is turned over, that she was taken in seriously hurt, and that she was held only until she could safely go away. Tell them that she would have died had she been left uncared for. No names are to be mentioned. Understand?” “Yes, Herr Colonel. I will go with her. Is she to go now?” “Yes.” He turned savagely to Grace. “Frau Gray,” he announced in English that was quite broken, “had I known yesterday who you were you would not now be here. There are those who would not treat you as we have treated you, were they to know who you are. Do not presume to come to Germany again, intentionally or unintentionally. If you do you may not go back. That is all.” The Herr Colonel strode from the room, and the woman hurried after him. Then the orderly beckoned to Grace to follow him, after discovering that she “could not understand German.” Grace smiled and nodded and dutifully followed the soldier down the stairs. It was quite a distance down, but not once during their journey to the outer air did Grace see a person. The old castle might have been deserted, and probably was. There was a difference when they got into the village. The streets were filled with chattering, gesticulating men, women and children. Some appeared to know who she was so far as her arrival in a parachute was concerned; others saw or had heard that she was an American. That was not a pleasant walk for Grace Harlowe Gray, though it was an interesting one to her. The sidewalks were lined with spectators, some stolid and sullen, others quite the opposite. The latter were in the majority and the American girl frequently was jeered at and poked at with fingers. A woman slapped her, but, though Grace’s face burned, she did no more than look at the woman calmly, unemotionally. Several times she heard the word “spy” hurled at her in German and smiled to herself. It was an interesting study in psychology to Grace Harlowe, even if she were the object of the demonstration. “Isn’t she pretty?” demanded a male voice in German. Grace flashed a look in that direction to see who had uttered the words. She saw a German officer and an attractive-looking young woman backed up against a store front. “Pretty? How can you say that of an American?” demanded the young woman. “She is as hideous and as ugly as no doubt her soul is black.” “You are a true German, Fraulein,” exclaimed the German officer enthusiastically.