But what secret could they contain? A code? If so, it was very perfect, for nothing could be more simple, more direct, more unaffected than the letters themselves. A swift doubt swept over him. Perhaps, once in the presence of the general, he would find that he had played the fool--that there was nothing in these letters. And yet a woman had risked her life for them. Face to face with death, she had made him swear to deliver them. Well, he would keep his oath! He was still very tired, and at last he lay back among the cushions and closed his eyes and tried to sleep. "_Halte là!_" cried a sharp voice. The brakes squeaked and groaned as they were jammed down. Stewart, shaken from his nap, sat up and looked about him. Ahead gleamed the lights of a town; he could hear a train rumbling past along the river bank. There was a moment's colloquy between the chauffeur and a man in uniform; a paper was examined by the light of an electric torch; then the man stepped to one side and the car started slowly ahead. The rumbling train came to a stop, and Stewart, rubbing his eyes, saw a regiment of soldiers leaping from it down to a long, brilliantly-lighted platform. They wore red trousers and long blue coats folded back in front--and with a shock, Stewart realized that they were French--that these were the men who were soon to face those gray-clad legions back yonder. Then, above the entrance to the station, its name flashed into view,--"Givet." They had passed the frontier--they were in France. The car rolled on, crossed the river by a long bridge, and finally came to a stop before a great, barn-like building, every window of which blazed with light, and where streams of officers were constantly arriving and departing. At once a sentry leaped upon the footboard; again the chauffeur produced his paper, and an officer was summoned, who glanced at it, and immediately stepped back and threw open the door of the tonneau. "This way, sir, if you please," he said to Stewart. As the latter rose heavily, stiff with long sitting, the officer held out his arm and helped him to alight. "You are very tired, is it not so?" he asked, and still supporting him, led the way up the steps, along a hall, and into a long room where many persons were sitting on benches against the walls or slowly walking up and down. "You will wait here," added his guide. "It will not be long," and he hurried away. Stewart dropped upon a bench and looked about him. There were a few women in the room--and he wondered at their presence there--but most of its occupants were men, some in uniform, others in civilian dress of the most diverse kinds, of all grades of society. Stewart was struck at once by the fact that they were all silent, exchanging not a word, not even a glance. Each kept his eyes to himself as if it were a point of honor so to do.