Yet she _must_ cross. Something had to be done--something had to be done while the sun was shining and the breeze in the meadow set the flowers all swaying. She looked desperately at the silent sentry box. Nothing moved. Yet she knew her enemy was watching her. Then, frightened, she set one foot across the line--took one more step, very timidly. "_Halt! Who goes there?_" She knew it--she _knew_ it! It had come--it had happened to her at last! "F-friend!" she faltered--"but I do not know the countersign." "_Pass, friend, without the countersign!_" Could she believe her ears! She listened again, her hand resting against her heart. But she only heard a child laughing inside the sentry box, and the smothered ruffle of preening wings. Her dream partly awoke her; she lay very still, vaguely conscious of where her cheek was resting, then closed her eyes to seek her enemy again among her dreams. CHAPTER XV IN CONFIDENCE They awoke with a light shining in their eyes; the guard stood on the running rail, one hand on the knob of the door. "The frontier," he said. "Descend if you please for the customs, and kindly have your papers ready." The girl's blue eyes were sleepy and humorous as she rested her hand on his arm to rise. "Are we ever to have a good night's sleep again?" she murmured as he aided her to descend in the lantern-lit darkness. "It's our punishment," he said. "For what, please?" "For ever doubting each other." She said nothing. A soldier picked up their luggage and carried it across the platform where another train stood waiting. And all at once Guild realized that the soldiers around the station and custom-house were not Belgians but Germans. He had forgotten that, and it gave him a distinct shock. As he and Karen, following the soldier, entered the long room in the custom-house, an officer all in sea-grey from the shrouded spike on his helmet to his ankles came forward and saluted; and Guild coolly lifted his cap. "Have I by chance the honour of addressing Herr Guild?" asked the officer. "I am Herr Guild." "And--gnädiges Fräulein?"--at salute and very rigid. "Fräulein Girard." "The gracious young lady has credentials?--a ring, perhaps?" Karen drew off her glove, slipped the ring from her finger. A soldier held up a lantern; the lieutenant adjusted a single eye-glass, scrutinized the ring, returned it with a tight-waisted bow. "Papers in order!" he said, turning to the customs officials. "Pass that luggage without inspection!" He was very polite. He escorted them to the Belgian train, found an empty compartment for them, thanked them with empressement, and retired into the darkness which had hatched him. As the train started Karen said in a low voice: "Would you care to call that officer a barbarian, Kervyn?" "You haven't seen Louvain. But probably that officer has--through his monocle." She sighed. "Are we to--differ again? I am _so_ sleepy."