As the three of them entered the hall, a young woman appeared on the threshold of one of the rooms communicating with it. Her natural slimness was emphasized by a gown of black, and this sombre garb threw into relief the fair hair which was massed heavily above her delicate features. It needed, perhaps, the youthful enthusiasm of the captain to call her beautiful; but her appearance had something of fragile charm which conferred a distinction rare among German women. She stood there, a little drawn back from her first emergence, contemplating them with eyes that evidently sought to measure the potentiality for mischief in these forced guests. Her attitude appealed dumbly for protection, so forlorn and frail and timid was it as she shrunk back in the doorway. “Introduce us, Jordan!” whispered the battalion-commander to his subordinate. “_On est civilisé, quoi donc!_” The young captain had lost a considerable amount of his assurance. Rather flustered, he saluted and pointed to his superior. “_Commandant!_” then, turning to the other, “Doctor!” he blurted, clumsily. Their hostess bowed slightly with a pathetic little smile as the two officers saluted. The doctor advanced a step. “Have no fear, _gnädige Frau_,” he said politely in German. “The war is over and France does not avenge itself upon women. No harm will come to you.” Her face lit up. “_Ach_, you speak German!” “I studied in Germany in my youth, _gnädige Frau_, and I have not quite forgotten the language.” She smiled at him. “_Gewiss nicht!_” Then, with a swift change of expression, she clutched imploringly at his arm. “You will protect me? I am so alone and frightened!” She hesitated as though seeking a cognate circumstance in him that should compel his sympathy. “You are married?” The polite smile went out of his face. His expression hardened. “I was, _gnädige Frau_,” he replied, curtly. She stared at him, divining that she had blundered upon some painful mystery. With feminine tact she steered quickly away from it into the region of safe commonplace. She threw open one of the doors leading into the hall. “Here, _meine Herren_, is the _Speisezimmer_,” she said in a tone of colourless courtesy that contrasted with her emotion-charged voice of a moment before. “It is at your service for your meals. There,” she pointed to a door at the other side of the hall, “is the _Salon_--also at your service. I have had a fire lit in it. Your orderlies are now in the kitchen. I will send them to you to show you your rooms.” She inclined her head slightly in sign of farewell and passed out through a door at the end of the hall. The young captain looked at his commanding officer. “_Eh bien, mon commandant?_ What did I tell you? Is she not----?” His superior interrupted him, a twinkle in his eye. “She is, _mon cher Jordan_--but you have not a chance against the doctor here!” He laughed, clapping the doctor on the back. The _médecin-major_ frowned. His ascetic features hardened again.