me cry out to you,
then you shall come running with pistols!"

"For heaven's sake----"

"Is it understood? Give me your word, Keed!"

"Sure!----"

"_Allons! Assez!_" she whispered excitedly. "Make prisoner any man you see
there!--_any_ man! You understand?"

"You bet!"

"_Any man!_" she repeated slowly, "even if he wears the same uniform _you_
wear."

There was a silence. Then:

"By God!" said Glenn under his breath.

"You suspect?"

"Yes. And if it _is_ one of our German-American muleteers, we'll lynch
him!" he whispered in a white rage.

But Maryette shook her head.

"No," she said in a dull, even voice, "let the gendarmerie take him in
charge. Spy or suspect, he must have his chance. That is the law in
France."

"You don't give rats a chance, do you?"

"I give everything its chance," she said simply. "And so does my country."

She drew the automatic pistol from her holster, examined it, raised her
eyes gravely to the American beside her:

"This is terrible for me," she added, in a low but steady voice. "If it
were not for my country--" She made a grave gesture, turned, and went
slowly out through the arched stone passage into the main street of the
town. A few minutes later the angelus sounded sweetly over the woods and
meadows of Sainte Lesse.

------------------

At ten, as the last stroke of the hour ended, there came a charming,
intimate little murmur of awakening bells; it grew sweeter, clearer,
filling the starry sky, growing, exquisitely increasing in limpid,
transparent volume, sweeping through the high, dim belfry like a great
wind from Paradise carrying Heaven's own music out over the darkened
earth.

All Sainte Lesse came to its doorways to listen to the playing of their
beloved Carillonnette; the bell-music ebbed and swelled under the stars;
the ancient Flemish masterpiece, written by some carillonneur whose bones
had long been dust, became magnificently vital again under the enchanted
hands of the little mistress of the bells.

In fifteen minutes the carillon ended; a slight pause followed, then the
quarter hour struck.

With the last stroke of the bell, the girl drew off her wooden gloves,
laid them on the keyboard, turned slowly in her seat, listening. A slight
sound coming from the spiral staircase of stone set her heart beating
violently. Had the suspected man violated his word? She drew the automatic
pistol from her holster, rose, and stole u