They did not move for a long moment when Doris slowly disengaged her arms from around his neck and moved slightly away. Her hair had fallen and hung in golden disorder about her shoulders. She put up her arm, trying to catch the escaping pins, and then she smiled at him, dimpling adorably. “Come,” he said gently. “You must get to bed. Your coat is nearly dry, but I’ll cover you with my jacket. You must sleep, too. No shammin’, you know. Can’t tell what may happen tomorrow.” “I’ll try,” she murmured obediently, while he led her to the couch of boughs and made her lie on it. But as he knelt beside her, covering her with his jacket, she caught his hands and would not relinquish them. He raised hers to his lips and kissed them again and again: small, muscular hands they were, but now very brown and dirty. “Are you comfortable? Sorry I haven’t a tub.” She was silent a moment and then straightened and asked him: “You promised to tell me about the papers. Won’t you?” He laughed. “Not now. It must be nearly morning.” “Yes, now. I’m not tired now. I will sleep afterwards. I like to hear your voice, Cyril. Perhaps it will soothe me to sleep.” “Are you sure?” he asked doubtfully--and she nodded. He saw that she was still nervous and wakeful and sank beside her couch, taking her hand in his. “It is really quite interestin’,” he began slowly. “Three years ago, at the invitation of the Emperor of Germany, when Europe was at peace and there was no cloud upon the horizon bigger than a chap’s hand, there met in a shootin’ lodge near Schöndorf, not ten miles from here, six men. It was a secret conference, arranged by the Emperor of Germany through His Excellency Graf von Stromberg. The six men were His Highness Prince von Waldheim, at one time Germany’s ambassador to France; Admiral von Frankenhausen, head and front of the Imperial German Navy; General von Sandersdorf, the brains of the German General Staff; His Excellency Moritz von Komarom, minister of war of the Austrian Empire; Viscount Melborne, English Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs; and Harlow-Gorden, of the British Admiralty.” She was listening avidly, wide-eyed, the array of well-known names telling her as nothing else could have done the importance of the conference. “This meetin’ was a secret,” he went on. “These men all traveled incognito, without servants, and were met by an agent of General von Stromberg at Schöndorf and conducted in automobiles to the huntin’ lodge I have spoken of. These men remained there for two days and two nights and then went home. But while they were there they were makin’ new history for Europe.” He paused to fill his pipe but her curiosity could not be restrained. “And what were they doing there, Cyril? I can’t understand.” Hammersley got up and held his pipe to the candle, for matches were scarce, and then, with maddening calmness, sat beside her again. “That secret meetin’ of these chaps had to do with nothin’ less than the ruin of France----”