another those treasures of intelligence, wit, and sensibility which
they were employed--and paid--to exercise in the defence of their
countries. It may be conceded that one of them was more or less
honest. Rust, I am convinced, had persuaded himself--he has no marked
ability or attractions of any kind that I can discern--that his duty
impelled him to watch Madame with exceeding closeness of attention.
That his strong inclinations marched with his duty may be allowed him
as a privilege; the plea of duty was not, I believe, merely an excuse.
But what can one say in defence of Madame, one who has stored within
her little copper-covered head enough brains to furnish a brigade,
say, of the Women's Emergency Corps? She had perceived that Rust was
an English officer masquerading as a Frenchman, yet she could not have
thought that he was a German spy. Why did she not ask him point blank
what he was doing in that galley. She has never supplied me with a
credible explanation, She pleads, with obvious insincerity, the
instructions of Dawson, which in the most reprehensible way granted to
her the vaguest of roving commissions. She parades her duty before me
in the most tattered of rags.

Upon the following afternoon, when Madame Gilbert drove up to the
Savoy in a taxi-cab at half-past four, a young man, in the uniform of
a French officer, opened the door and handed her out. It was, of
course, Captain Rust, who had waited palpitating upon the curb for
some three-quarters of an hour. He led her to a small table which he
had reserved for another charming duet of tea, cakes, and
conversation.

At this second meeting, Madame bent herself to the deft
cross-examination of Rust "Had the Captain Rouille joined St. Cyr as a
cadet officer, or had he served in the ranks of the French Army?" He
had served in the ranks, and broke into details of his training and
garrison service which convinced her that he really had served. She
became thoughtful. Rust, eager to show off his accomplishments,
explained that he had been recommended for a commission and had joined
St. Cyr. More details followed, all of a verisimilitude wholly
convincing. Madame, who knew France and the French Army up and down,
became more thoughtful and more puzzled. It was plain that Rust had
really served in the ranks of the Army, and had been at St. Cyr. Yet
he was an Englishman and an officer of the English Flying Corps! She
asked further questions, innocent, flattering quest