"Partly; but it takes more than water to remove a two-days' growth of beard," and Stewart ran a rueful finger over his stubbly chin. "But can it be only two days since you burst into my room at the Kölner Hof, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me!" "Please do not speak of it!" she pleaded, with crimson cheeks. "It was not an easy thing for a girl to do; but that spy was watching--so I nerved myself, and----" "You did it very well, indeed," he said, reminiscently. "And to think that not once since then----" "Once was quite enough." "Oh, I don't blame you; I know I'm not an attractive object. People will be taking us for beauty and the beast." "Neither the one nor the other!" she corrected. "Well, I take back the beast; but not the beauty! You are the loveliest thing I ever saw," he added, huskily. "The very loveliest!" She looked down at him for an instant, and her eyes were very tender; then she looked hastily away. "There were to be no compliments until we were out of Germany," she reminded him. "We are out of Germany," he said, and got slowly to his feet, his eyes on fire. "No, no," she protested, backing hastily away from him. "This is German ground--let me show you!" and she ran before him out into the meadow. "Look down yonder!" Looking down, Stewart saw the mighty army which had been mustered to crush France. As far as the eye could reach, and from side to side of the broad valley, it stretched--masses of men and horses and wagons and artillery--masses and masses--thousands upon thousands--mile upon mile. A broad highway ran along either side of the river, and along each road a compact host moved steadily westward toward Liège. Suddenly from the west came the thunder of heavy guns, and Stewart knew that the attack had commenced again. Again men were being driven forward to death, as they would be driven day after day, until the end, whatever that might be. And whatever it was, not a single dead man could be brought to life; not a single maimed man made whole; not a single dollar of the treasure which was being poured out like a flood could be recovered. It was all lost, wasted, worse than wasted, since it was being used to destroy, not to create! Incredible--impossible--it could not be! Even with that mighty army beneath his eyes, Stewart told himself for the hundredth time that it could not be! The voice of his comrade broke in upon his thoughts. "We must work our way westward along the hills until we come to the Meuse," she said. "This is the valley of the Vesdre, which flows into the Meuse, so we have only to follow it."