"Being in Belgium?" I prompted him, seeing his sharp anxiety. "That's not a dream, but true. You're Monsieur Mars, the hero of Liege, because you brought down the Zeppelin and the men who came to drop bombs on us. We're all grateful to you, and praying that you may get well soon." "Thank God that it _is_ true!" he sighed. "I wanted to do something. I'd have been disappointed to wake up and find I'd only dreamed after all--to find that I was back in London. I was afraid for a minute it was the day of--but it's all right now. How is it that you're here? It seems----" "Oh, I just happened to be travelling in Belgium with the Dalziels when the war broke out, and we got caught. They've gone now, but I stayed. The nurses let me help them a little. I do the best I can. I told them I'd met you at home. But every one here calls you 'Monsieur Mars.' They know no other name." "Don't let them know any other. Don't let any one know." "I won't. You needn't worry! Now, will you sleep, please?--or they may think I'm doing you more harm than good." "You do me the greatest good. I'll sleep, yes. But first--tell me one thing more; about the _Golden Eagle_. I planed down part of the way, but the motor'd stopped working. The last I remember is when I began to fall." "The _Eagle's_ safe," I assured him. "Hardly hurt at all; and there's a Belgian flying man in Liege to-day, Simon Sorel, who knows you. His mechanic is working on the _Golden Eagle_. She'll be ready for you when you're ready for her." "That will be soon. Good man, Sorel!" he said, and closed his eyes. "Little Peggy!" I heard him muttering later. But three minutes afterward he had dropped into a natural sleep.