Grace grinned, though the characterization hurt her more than she cared to admit to herself. With every step after that she expected to encounter violence, but it was not until she neared the bridge that she did. Some one threw a stone. It was a small stone, but the thrower, as Grace concluded later when thinking over the occurrence, must have been a member of a Hun bomb squad. It hit and knocked the Overton girl down. Grace got up dizzily. Blood was trickling down her cheek. Her escort appeared to be wholly indifferent to her plight, and did not even rebuke the one who threw the stone. Fortunately for Grace it was a small stone, else she would not have gotten up quite so readily. “This is a sample of Hun ‘kultur,’ I presume?” she said in German, addressing her conductor. The orderly glanced at her inquiringly. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” he demanded. “No, I wouldn’t speak the language if it were the only language in the world,” she retorted, again in German, but refused to utter another word in the language. “The woman is to pass,” directed the orderly, presenting a pass to the sentry on duty at the bridge; then he turned abruptly and left Grace to get along as best she might. “Courtesy appears to have been neglected in the education of these people,” muttered Grace. “However, I should not be amazed at that, knowing the Boches as I do after my many months on the western front. Thank goodness I am free, I hope, for good and all. Now I suppose I shall have a hard time getting into our lines.” Grace did have a hard time. She was promptly halted by an American sentry, who, calling the corporal of the guard, turned her over to him. Grace demanded to be taken before Captain Boucher of the Intelligence Department, which was done because orders had been given to that effect. Captain Boucher gazed at the ragged figure for a few seconds, his gaze traveling up to the face, from which the blood had not all been wiped away. He was on his feet in an instant. “Mrs. Gray!” he exclaimed. “You are wounded!” “Nothing to speak of, sir. Merely a little memento of Boche ‘kultur.’ In other words I was stoned out of Germany.” Grace smiled that winning smile that always won people to her. “I am quite all right, but my clothing and my hair are simply impossible. I wish it were dark, for I do dread to go through the streets here in my present disgraceful condition.” “This is an outrage. Were I the general in command of this army I’d have those hounds down on their knees!” raged the captain. “That is what they need, sir. Those people need to have the arrogance beaten out of them. I am not saying this in any spirit of revenge, nor for what they did to me.”