There was a long line of people in front of the ticket-office, and their progress was slow, for two police officers stood at the head of the line and interrogated every applicant for a ticket before they would permit it to be given him. Stewart, as he moved slowly forward, saw two men jerked violently out of the line and placed under arrest; he wondered uncomfortably if the officers had any instructions with regard to him, but, when his turn came, he faced them as unconcernedly as he was able. He explained that he and his wife were going to Brussels, showed his passport, and finally hastened away triumphant with the two precious bits of pasteboard. It seemed to him that the last difficulty had been encountered and overcome, and it was only by an effort that he kept himself from waving the tickets in the air as he rejoined his companion. In another moment, they were past the barrier. Hans was permitted to enter with them, and mounted guard over the luggage. The platform was thronged with a motley and excited crowd, among whom were many officers in long gray coats and trailing swords, evidently on their way to join their commands. They were stalking up and down, with a lofty disregard for base civilians, talking loudly, gesticulating fiercely, and stopping ever and anon to shake hands solemnly. Stewart was watching them with an amusement somewhat too apparent, for his companion suddenly passed her arm through his. "I should like to walk a little," she said. "I have been sitting too long." Then, in a lower tone, as they started along the platform, "It would be more wise not to look at those idiots. They would seek a quarrel with you in an instant if they suspected it was at them you were smiling." "You are right," Stewart agreed; "besides, there is someone else whom I think much better worth looking at! The officers seem to share my opinion," he added, for more than one head was turned as they walked slowly down the platform. "I shall be jealous in a moment!" "Do not talk nonsense! Nothing is so absurd as for a man to make love to his wife in public!" Stewart would have liked to retort that he had, as yet, had mighty few opportunities in private, but he judged it best to save that remark for the other side of the frontier. "Just the same," she rattled on, "it was good of you to write so regularly while you were at Vienna. I am sure your letters helped with my cure. But you have not told me--have you secured our passage?" "I will know when we get to Brussels. Cook is trying to get us an outside room on the _Adriatic_." "Do we go back to England?" "Not unless we wish to. We can sail from Cherbourg."