Whether the mention of payment stimulated the official wits, or whether the man was afraid of getting into trouble through over-zeal, he appeared to understand and approve of the suggestion. The big man lifted Helene down from the waggon as if she had been a baby, and after she had thanked the driver for his kindness, the scene changed to the post-office, of which the big man was in charge. Here a fresh difficulty occurred, for Helene had no money, and the simplicity of modern dress precluded her from resorting to the time-honoured expedient of offering jewellery in pledge. She had not even a watch with her, and the postmaster became stern and implacable once more. The little man came to the rescue by pointing out that she had a gold ring on her finger, but she pleaded so piteously that she could not give up her wedding-ring, that matters were at a deadlock again. Then the postmaster, apparently prompted by his handsome, slipshod wife, proposed a compromise. He would send the telegram, and wait for the payment until the morning; but Helene and the ring must remain in pawn, so to speak, since she would not be separated from it. She should spend the night in the post-office, which was a lean-to attached to his own house, and could only be entered through the room in which he and his family slept; and if there was no answer to the telegram in the morning, the ring must be given up. There were few things to which Helene would not have agreed at that moment, and she wrote out the telegram, surrounded by the eager and curious circle of villagers, all bristling with weapons. She wrote it in German, as the customs-officer’s help would enable the postmaster to make it less unintelligible in that language than in French or English; and when the whole assembly had looked at it wisely, heard it translated and explained, and discussed the meaning, it was allowed to be sent. When, after a good deal of squabbling between the postmaster and the customs-officer over the spelling of the words, the message had at last been despatched, Helene, who had been upheld by her anxiety so far, staggered forward, and clutching feebly at the office-desk, slipped to the floor. Instantly the postmaster’s wife, who seemed to have been severely repressed hitherto by her husband, took possession of her, and ordered the other villagers out of the room. It was clear she was saying that whoever the girl might be, she was faint and exhausted, and should not be tormented any more by stupid unsympathetic men. Even this good Samaritan could not provide a softer couch than the bench which ran along one end of the room, but she brought a sheepskin as a coverlid and a rolled-up apron for a pillow, and a frugal meal of black bread and milkless tea. She was so obviously sympathetic and compassionate that Helene kissed her impulsively as she covered her up, and the Dardanian woman smiled broadly as she kissed her in return, and patted her shoulder with a