"Can't you leave the house by the garden?" she whispered tremulously. "The gate is padlocked." "Kervyn, they'll kill you if you step out of that door!" Von Reiter, drowsy with pain, opened his eyes: "No, they won't," he said. "Be kind enough to speak to my aide. I--I'm afraid I'm rather--ill." He glanced at Guild: "Honour of an officer," he added weakly. Karen stepped to the door and flung it open. "Captain!" she called sharply. A moment later the young hussar aide-de-camp who had escorted Guild to the British lines came clanking in. He glanced obliquely at Guild and at Karen, but when his eyes fell on von Reiter he stared, astonished. Nevertheless, his spurred heels clicked together at salute. Von Reiter's eyes became ironical. He looked for a moment at his aide, then his gaze wandered to Karen and to Guild. "Where do you desire to go?" he asked with an effort. "To Antwerp." "The road is still open." And, to the hussar: "Safe conduct for Captain the Comte d'Yvoir across the railway. Write it now." "And for my comrade, Mr. Darrel, and ten recruits," said Guild quietly. "And for his comrade, Mr. Darrel, and ten recruits," repeated von Reiter in a failing voice. But he was smiling. "And--for _me_!" said Karen. Von Reiter's eyes had almost closed; he opened them again, heavily, as she spoke. Karen bent over him: "Kurt, I must go. I can not remain here now. Besides--I want--my--husband." "Think well," he said drowsily. "Think diligently--at this moment--solemn--supreme--" He raised himself a little, then relapsed: "God," he murmured, "what luck to meet with under your own roof!..." And, to the hussar: "Write it that Miss Karen Girard goes also--if she so desires." There was a silence. The hussar scribbled on the stamped paper in his tablets. After he had finished he laid the tablets and the fountain pen on von Reiter's knees. Very slowly the latter affixed his signature. He said to the hussar: "I am ill. Go to Trois Fontaines and bring me a medical officer." When the hussar had gone and when the whirr of the automobile had died away down the drive, Guild aided the hurt man to a sofa and Karen brought pillows from a bedroom. He was very thirsty, too, and she gave him water continually. At intervals there were slight signs of mental wandering, perhaps symptoms of pneumonia, from his crushed ribs, for he coughed a great deal and the fever already reddened his blond skin. But in the main his mind seemed to be clear. He opened his light-blue eyes and glanced at Guild continually. "Bad luck, old chap," he said in English, "but no reflection on you. Just bad luck, bad, very bad! We Germans usually have an ally in God. But the trinity is incomplete without luck." Guild said in a low voice: "I am really sorry, von Reiter. I hope you will come out all right. God knows I bear you no ill will."