Yet, even as he so pondered, he told himself that there was no reason that such should be the case. The lady might herself be no Frenchwoman, but, instead, one belonging to this war-worn land. "She may not be capable of judging who or what I am," he reflected. Yet in another moment he had learnt that her powers of judging whether he was a Frenchman or not were undoubtedly sufficient. In a voice, an accent, which no other than a Frenchman or Frenchwoman ever possessed, an intonation which none but those who had learnt to lisp that language at their mother's knee could have acquired, the lady spoke now to her elderly servant, saying: "Ambroise, retire, and bid Jeanne prepare the valises. I have resolved to go forward an hour after dawn." The manservant bowed, then said: "But the supper, Madame la Comtesse? Who shall serve, madame? The remainder is not----" "The server will do very well. Go and commence to assist Jeanne." "Madame la Comtesse," Bevill thought to himself when the man had departed. "So this is doubtless the owner of the grand coach. And she is a Frenchwoman. It may well be that she understands I am no countryman of hers, though I know not, in solemn truth, why she should suppose I pretend to be one--unless the landlord or servants have told her, or she has looked in the register of guests." For here, as everywhere, all travellers had to give their names to the landlords, and Bevill was now registered as "Le Capitaine Le Blond, of the Mousquetaires Gris." The supper went on still in silence, however, and the server attended both to the lady who had been styled "La Comtesse" and to Bevill. But he was nothing more than a raw Flemish boor, little accustomed to waiting on ladies and gentlemen, and gave Bevill the idea that he was not occupied in his usual vocations. Once he dropped a dish with such a clatter that the lady started, and once he handed another to Bevill before offering it to the countess. "Serve madame!" Bevill said sternly, looking at the hobbledehoy and covering him with confusion, while, as he did so, the lady lifted her eyes to him and bowed stiffly, though graciously. Then, as if feeling it necessary that some word of acknowledgment, some small token of his civility, should be testified, the lady said: "Monsieur is extremely polite. He is doubtless not native here?" "No, madame. I am a stranger passing through the land on my way towards the Rhine," while, as Bevill spoke, he was glad that, in this case, there was no need for deception, since Liége was truly on the road towards the Rhine. "As am I. I set out to-morrow for Liége." "For Liége? Madame will scarcely find that town a pleasant place of sojourn. Yet I do forget--madame is French." "As is monsieur," the Countess said, with a swift glance at her companion, speaking more as though stating a fact than asking a question. Bevill shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly, but as much as good breeding would allow. Then he said: