“Paul d’Aurillac,” he said, “is my dearest friend.  When he married this charming lady I was stationed in Algiers, and but for the war I might never have met her.”

To Marie, with his hand on his heart in a most charming manner, he bowed.  His admiration he made no effort to conceal.

“And so,” he said, “I know why there is war!”

The adjutant smiled indulgently, and departed on his duties, leaving them alone.  The handsome eyes of Captain Thierry were raised to the violet eyes of Marie.  They appraised her boldly and as boldly expressed their approval.

In burlesque the young man exclaimed indignantly:  “Paul deceived me!” he cried.  “He told me he had married the most beautiful woman in Laon.  He has married the most beautiful woman in France!”

To Marie this was not impertinence, but gallantry.

This was a language she understood, and this was the type of man, because he was the least difficult to manage, she held most in contempt.

“But about you, Paul did not deceive me,” she retorted.  In apparent confusion her eyes refused to meet his.  “He told me ‘Pierrot’ was a most dangerous man!”

She continued hurriedly.  With wifely solicitude she asked concerning Paul.  She explained that for a week she had been a prisoner in the chateau, and, since the mobilization, of her husband save that he was with his regiment in Paris she had heard nothing.  Captain Thierry was able to give her later news.  Only the day previous, on the boulevards, he had met Count d’Aurillac.  He was at the Grand Hotel, and as Thierry was at once motoring back to Paris he would give Paul news of their meeting.  He hoped he might tell him that soon his wife also would be in Paris.  Marie explained that only the illness of her aunt prevented her from that same day joining her husband.  Her manner became serious.

“And what other news have you?” she asked.  “Here on the firing-line we know less of what is going forward than you in Paris.”

So Pierre Thierry told her all he knew.  They were preparing despatches he was at once to carry back to the General Staff, and, for the moment, his time was his own.  How could he better employ it than in talking of the war with a patriotic and charming French woman?

In consequence Marie acquired a mass of facts, gossip, and guesses.  From these she mentally selected such information as, to her employers across the Aisne, would be of vital interest.

And to rid herself of Thierry and on the fourth floor seek Anfossi was now her only wish.  But, in attempting this, by the return of the adjutant she was delayed.  To Thierry the adjutant gave a sealed envelope.

“Thirty-one, Boulevard des Invalides,” he said.  With a smile he turned to Marie.  “And you will accompany him!”

“I!” exclaimed Marie.  She was sick with sudden terror.

But the tolerant smile of the adjutant reassured her.