with miraculous power. Many soldiers in the worst of the
fighting were sure of victory, because the virgin had promised that
never should Nancy be taken again by any enemy whatever."

It was late when we came back to the hotel, and while I was translating
the Becketts' gratitude into French for the Prefet, the O'Farrells
arrived from another direction. The brother looked pleased to see us;
the sister looked distressed. I fancied that she had been forced or
persuaded to point out the scene of last night's adventure, and was
returning chastened from the visit. To introduce her to the Prefet was
like introducing a dog as it strains at the leash, but Puck performed
the rite, and explained her sling.

"Hurt in the air raid?" the Prefet echoed. "I hope, Mademoiselle, that
you went to a good doctor. That he----"

"The doctor came to her on the spot," replied Puck, in his perfect
French. "It seems you have doctors at Nancy who walk the streets, when
there's a raid, wandering about to pick up jobs, and refusing payment."

The Prefet laughed. "Can it be," he exclaimed, "that Mademoiselle has
been treated by the Wandering Jew? Oh, not the original character, but
an extraordinary fellow who has earned that name in our neighbourhood
since the war."

"Was that what he called himself?" O'Farrell turned to Dierdre. I
guessed that Puck's public revelations were vengeance upon her for
unanswered questions.

"He called himself nothing at all," the girl replied.

"Ah," said the Prefet, "then he _was_ the Wandering Jew! Let me see--I
think you are planning to go to Gerbeviller and Luneville and Vitrimont
to-morrow. Most likely you'll meet him at one of those places. And when
you hear his story, you'll understand why he haunts the neighbourhood
like a beneficent spirit."

"But must we wait to hear the story? Please tell us now," I pleaded.
"I'm so curious!"

This was true. I burned with curiosity. Also, fatty degeneration of the
heart prompted me to annoy Dierdre O'Farrell. To spite _me_, she had
refused to talk of the doctor. I was determined to hear all about him to
spite _her_. You see to what a low level I have fallen, dear Padre!

The Prefet said that if we would go home with him and have tea in the
garden (German aeroplanes permitting) he would tell us the tale of the
Wandering Jew. We all accepted, save Dierdre, who began to stammer an
excuse; but a look from her brother nipped it in the bud. He certainly
has an influence