anything comes here, you will telephone at once?” 

 “Of course,” she assented. 

 “You do not think it possible,” he asked slowly, “that he would attempt to see you here?” 

 Louise shuddered for a moment. 

 “I absolutely forbade it, so I am sure there is no chance of that.” 

 “Very well, then,” he decided, “we will wait. Dear,” he added, in an altered tone, “how splendid you look!” 

 Her face suddenly softened. 

 “Ah, David!” she murmured, “to hear you speak naturally even for a moment—it makes everything seem so different!” 

 He held out his arms and she came to him with a little sigh of satisfaction. 

 “Louise,” he said, “some day the time may come when we shall be able to give up this life of anxiety and terrors. But it cannot be yet—not for your country’s sake or mine.” 

 She kissed him fondly. 

 “So long as there is hope!” she whispered. 

 

CHAPTER XI VON BEHRLING’S FATE

 It seemed to Louise that she had scarcely been in bed an hour when the more confidential of her maids—Annette, the Frenchwoman—woke her with a light touch of the arm. She sat up in bed sleepily. 

 “What is it, Annette?” she asked. “Surely it is not mid-day yet? Why do you disturb me?” 

 “It is barely nine o’clock, Mademoiselle, but Monsieur Bellamy—Mademoiselle told me that she wished to receive him whenever he came. He is in the boudoir now, and very impatient.” 

 “Did he send any message?” 

 “Only 

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