That brought to Ruth’s right the Garden of the Tuileries! They were in the Place de la Concorde; they turned into the Champs-Elysées! It was little more than a vague wideness of speeding shadows; but Ruth’s blood was warm and racing. Hubert spoke to her, and when she replied she knew that if he had questioned before whether she had been previously in Paris he could not wonder now. But he spoke to her as if she had, calling names of the places quietly to Milicent rather than to her. The car swerved into the Place de l’Etoile. “The Arc-de-Triomphe!” Hubert cried. Ruth bent and saw its looming bulk; they were upon the Avenue Kléber now and the car soon was halting. A single light burned in the hallway of a building of apartments handsomer than any Ruth ever had seen; a door upon a second floor opened and an American man and woman welcomed “Cynthia Gail” as Ruth had never been welcomed anywhere in her life. These hospitable people--they were Aunt Emilie’s cousins, the Mayhews--welcomed Hubert, too, of course, and Milicent. Ruth lay that night in a beautiful bed of gold and blue--the most grateful, the most excited, the most humble and insignificant-feeling girl in all France. When she had started out upon this adventure in America she had seemed to herself to be seizing an opportunity ordained for her by fate and entrusted to her as the instrument for a great deed; now the fact that she was here, and had come with an idea that she could greatly do, seemed the most assuming conceit in the world. The next morning when she went out upon the avenues in the uniform, which now she was to wear constantly, the pettiness of her part reimpressed itself with every square she passed as she witnessed the throngs of soldiers--of a dozen races, of innumerable nations--gathered for the war. She went with Hubert to the American consulate, where she applied for a new passport to replace the ruined one; then, proceeding alone to the office where Cynthia Gail was to report, she accepted gladly the simple, routine duties assigned her. That same day she and Milicent found a room in a _pension_ upon the Rue des Saints Pères, where Hubert and Mrs. Mayhew called upon her the next evening. But if Gerry Hull had inquired for her at the Mayhew’s, his inquiry resulted in no visit to the Rue des Saints Pères. Lieutenant Gerry Hull was transferred--so Ruth read in a _Matin_ of the next week--to the American forces and was flying now under his own flag. And with his return to duty it seemed that he must have lost concern for a girl satisfied to do half-clerical, half-charity relief work among refugees in Paris. Of course Ruth did not think of herself as merely doing such work; she considered herself as waiting for further instructions from the Germans. The orders which she had received from the spy in Chicago had directed her to take up this work of Cynthia Gail’s; and only by following these orders could she hope to carry out her plan.