Yet, even as he said this, he recalled his client of the previous day and _his_ strange story and personality. Here, indeed, were a pair of lunatics, male and female, who would undoubtedly be well mated. And why not? The soldier needed something to jolt him out of his despondency, to occupy his energy--and he was American. A reckless adventurer, no matter how distinguished, was just the sort of mate for this wild woman who was bent on crossing half the earth to conduct a private assassination. Mr. Doolittle, in a long residence in France, had acquired a Gallic sense of humor, a deep appreciation of the extravagant. It pleased him to speculate on the probable consequences of such a partnership, the ex-légionnaire shepherding the Pyrenean wild cat who was yet an aristocrat, as his eyes plainly told him. He had an idea that the American West was as wild and lawless as it had ever been, and it pleased him to speculate on what might happen to these two in such a region. And, come to think about it, De Launay had referred to himself as having been a cowboy at one time, before becoming a soldier. That made it even more deliciously suitable. He also recalled having made a suggestion to the general which had been met with scorn. And yet, the man had said that he would gamble on anything. If it were made what he called a "sporting proposition" he might consider it. "How can I help solve it?" And even as he said it again, he knew that here was a possible solution. "I see no way except that you should marry a returning American soldier," he said, at last, while she stared at him through her veil, her deep eyes making him vaguely uncomfortable. "Marry a soldier--an American! Me, Morgan _la fée_, espouse one of these roistering, cursing foreigners? Monsieur, you speak with foolishness!" "Morgan _la fée_!" Doolittle gasped. "Mademoiselle is----" "Morgan _la fée_ in the hospitals," answered Solange d'Albret icily. "Monsieur has heard the name?"