“Quite true,” answered the Professor, “but what can you suggest as the best way out of our present position? What shall we do?” There was a sound at the door, as of someone at work on the outer fastenings. “Nothing--until after breakfast,” replied Mortimer. “Ah, here it comes, I think--and welcome.” As he spoke the door opened and there appeared, at the head of the steps leading down into the cabin, the graceful figure of a girl carrying a large tray substantially laden with food. At a glance they recognized her as she whom they had seen upon landing. Professor Dean rose and bowed. “Miss Robert, I believe?” said Captain Mortimer, also rising and bowing. The girl deposited her heavy tray, ran over to a locker and procured a white tablecloth which she spread upon the table. “Yes,” she replied, with a merry laugh, “but here in the camp they call me ‘Valerie.’” And she turned a pair of merry brown eyes upon them, eyes that rested with evident admiration on Mortimer’s jaunty military jacket, with its gay trappings. As she stood there smiling, with her high color, her jet-black hair, her graceful figure, and large but very white teeth showing between her full, scarlet lips, she was unquestionably a very pretty girl. “Valerie,” repeated Mortimer, gallantly. “That is certainly a very pretty name, but a rather uncommon one in this country.” “Yes,” assented Valerie, still laughing, as she busied herself with the table; “I suppose it is. My mother was French and I was named after her. They tell me you come direct from the palace,” she prattled on. “Are any of the ladies there called Valerie?” “I think not,” replied Mortimer, joining in her merry mood. “It would be hard, even at Court, to find a name as pretty as that.” “And is it true that the ladies are wearing dresses cut in Directoire style?” continued Valerie. Mortimer broke into a hearty laugh. “Really,” he said, “I am not competent to answer that. Perhaps,” he added mischievously, “my friend Professor Dean, who takes a great interest in the ladies, can inform you upon that subject.” Thus appealed to, the Professor fairly blushed. “Well,” he stammered confusedly, “I don’t know much about ladies’ dresses, but it is true that the fashions have reverted to something like that which was in vogue some two centuries ago and the ladies at the Court to-day are wearing dresses which suggest those of the days of the French _Directoire_.” “There!” exclaimed Mortimer triumphantly. “You see he is an authority and I referred you to the right source for information.” “It must be a very pretty fashion,” remarked the girl musingly. “How I would like to see those dresses--and the Court and the ladies there! What a pity it seems that a Court is wicked and must be done away with.” “What makes you think the Court is wicked?” asked Mortimer curiously. “Oh,” replied the girl, “I have always been taught that. Everybody here says it is. But I am keeping you from your breakfast,” she added, hastily.