Brand and I waited another twenty minutes, and then in a tide of new arrivals we saw Elsa. She was in the company of Major Quin, Brand’s friend who had brought her from Cologne, a tall Irishman who stooped a little as he gave his arm to the girl. She was dressed in a blue coat and skirt, very neatly, and it was the glitter of her spun-gold hair that made me catch sight of her quickly in the crowd. Her eyes had a frightened look as she came forward, and she was white to the lips. Thinner, too, than when I had seen her last, so that she looked older and not, perhaps, quite so wonderfully pretty. But her face lighted up with intense gladness when Brand stood in front of her, and then, under an electric lamp, with a crowd surging around him, took her in his arms. Major Quin and I stood aloof, chatting together. “Good journey?” I asked. “Excellent, but I’m glad it’s over. That little lady is too unmistakably German. Everybody spotted her and looked unutterable things. She was frightened, and I don’t wonder. Most of them thought the worst of me. I had to threaten one fellow with a damned good hiding for an impertinent remark I overheard.” Brand thanked him for looking after his wife, and Elsa gave him her hand and said, “_Danke schön_.” Major Quin raised his finger and said, “Hush. Don’t forget you’re in Paris now.” Then he saluted with a click of spurs, and took his leave. I put Brand and his wife in a taxi and drove outside, by the driver, to a quiet old hotel in the Rue St. Honoré, where we had booked rooms. When we registered, the manager at the desk stared at Elsa curiously. She spoke English, but with an unmistakable accent. The man’s courtesy to Brand, which had been perfect, fell from him abruptly and he spoke with icy insolence when he summoned one of the boys to take up the baggage. In the dining-room that night all eyes turned to Elsa and Brand, with inquisitive, hostile looks. I suppose her frock, simple and ordinary as it seemed to me, proclaimed its German fashion. Or perhaps her face and hair were not so English as I had imagined. It was a little while before the girl herself was aware of those unpleasant glances about her. She was very happy sitting next to Brand, whose hand she caressed once or twice and into whose face she looked with adoration. She was still very pale, and I could see that she was immensely tired after her journey, but her eyes shone wonderfully. Sometimes she looked about her and encountered the stares of people--elderly French _bourgeois_ and some English nurses and a few French officers--dining at other tables in the great room with gilt mirrors and painted ceiling. She spoke to Brand presently in a low voice. “I am afraid. These people stare at me so much. They guess what I am.” “It’s only your fancy,” said Brand. “Besides, they would be fools not to stare at a face like yours.” She smiled and coloured up at that sweet flattery.