The Russian Ambassador was baffled--admitted it. He signed the papers that gave Arensen his freedom as a loyal Russian. The heroine herself relates the sequel: "Like Tosca in the opera, I sped to him bearing freedom. I didn't have to tell him the whole story--not then. We found that our old acquaintance, begun at La Scala, had blossomed into love during our separation. So he did the proposing. We were married just an hour before the _Lafayette_ sailed, bringing us to the United States." HOW WE STOLE THE TUG-BOAT _The Story of a Sensational Escape from the Germans_ _Told by Sergeant "Maurice Prost," of the Belgian Army_ "Maurice Prost"--now a sergeant in the Belgian army, escaped from Belgium, with a party of over forty men and two women, in very romantic circumstances. How he and an Alsatian outwitted the Huns is here narrated in his own words, as recorded by a correspondent who met him in Paris. For obvious reasons all the names have been disguised in this tale in the _Wide World Magazine_. I--"I WAS IN A CAFE IN LIEGE" The outset of the whole affair dates from one intensely cold day in the middle of December, 1916. I had slipped into an obscure _café_ in a small street in Liége as much in search of tranquility of mind as with the object of getting a comforting glass of hot coffee. With thousands of other Liégois I was trembling under the reign of terror caused by the daily slave-raids, which, ever since their inception a fortnight before by order of that arch-criminal, the Kaiser, had raised a mighty cry of anguish from the stricken city. It was with a sigh of relief that I found the place was empty. Taking a seat at one of the little marble-topped tables, as near to the meagrely-heated circular stove as I could get, I prepared to snatch a brief spell of quietness from that day of sudden alarms and haunting fears. But I had no sooner taken my first comforting gulp of the steaming hot liquid, served by a careworn woman in widow's weeds, than an incident occurred which sent a cold thrill to my heart. The _café_ door opened, and in walked a German soldier, dressed as a _feldwebel_. After taking in the interior with a quick glance he clanked straight up to the stove, rubbed his hands vigorously, and, calling for a "_Café bien chaud_," in excellent French, sat down opposite to me with a formal "_Bonjour!_"