“You call me a lost child, General?  Ah, you remember the term!  At many battles there is what is known as the forlorn hope—­those whom the French call Les enfants perdus—­The Lost Children.  Perhaps they perish.  But at the next battle, at the crucial time, they rise again from the dead.  Always there is the band of the Lost Children, ready to do what must be done.  And always, at the last moment, are battles won by those who remain devoted, whatever be the cause.”

Zewlinski nodded his gray head gravely.  “It was thus my own sons died in battle,” said he.  “It was as I would have had it.  But you—­you are a woman!  These things are not for you.”

“See,” she interrupted, gently tapping his arm with her fan.  “We must not be too much apart.  Let us return.”

As they turned back toward the head of the line, Josephine gave a half-exclamation.  Two figures were approaching, each of which seemed to her familiar.  An instant later she had recognized the young northern officer, Carlisle, whom she had met under such singular conditions.  With him stalked the tall young German, Kammerer.  Their eyes lighted suddenly, as they fell upon her, and both advanced eagerly.  There was new dignity in her carriage now, but she greeted them warmly.

[Illustration:  Two figures were approaching.]

“When we may, I shall hope to compare notes with you,” she smiled.  “You are still on parole to me.”

“But you, Madam—­you seem differently situated here.  I am very glad to find it so.”  Carlisle was eager, flushed, frankly admiring.

“Yes, I scarce know which side the sea I belong.  You know, I am half American, though my people lived abroad, in diplomatic work.  By President Taylor I was chosen as one of the members of the Hungarian commission sent over by America to look into the cause of Hungary.  In return, last year I had the honor of being asked to come to this country as one of the commission despatched to America in the interest of Hungary.  I came over a certain time in advance, for reasons of my own.  Meantime, I have had, it seems—­well, call them adventures!  I am not eager they should be known here.  But if you like, you may call on me at my hotel—­to-morrow?”

Both recognized a slight additional trace of hauteur in the deportment of the woman whom they now accosted.  She herself saw a sort of hesitation on the part of Carlisle.

“I can’t let you make any mistake about me,” he began presently.

“How do you mean?”

“You are probably not advised about me.  I’m a person of no consequence.”

“An officer of his country’s army can not say that of himself.”