comporting itself like the personages in a
political novel, and people consequently could not seem to believe in
it,--although it was taking place right under their eyes,--just because
its methods appeared too exaggerated and antiquated.

"Therefore," she continued, "every time that France uncovers a part of
our maneuvers, the opinion of the world which believes only in
ingenious and difficult things ridicules it, considering it attacked
with a delirium of persecution."

Women for some time past had been deeply involved in the service of
espionage. There were many as wise as the doctor, as elegant as Freya,
and many venerable ones with famous names, winning the confidence that
illustrious dowagers inspire. They were very numerous, but they did not
know each other. Sometimes they met out in the world and were
suspicious of each other, but each continued on her special mission,
pushed in different directions by an omnipotent and hidden force.

She showed him some portraits that were taken a few years before.
Ulysses was slow to recognize her as a slim Japanese young girl, clad
in a dark kimono.

"It is I when I was over there. It was to our interest to know the real
force of that nation of little men with rat-like eyes."

In another portrait she appeared in short skirt, riding boots, a man's
shirt, and a felt cowboy hat.

"That was from the Transvaal."

She had gone to South Africa in company with other German women of the
"service" in order to sound the state of mind of the Boers under
English domination.

"I've been everywhere," she affirmed proudly.

"In Paris, too?" questioned the sailor.

She hesitated before answering, but finally nodded her head.... She had
been in Paris many times. The outbreak of the war had found her living
in the Grand Hotel. Fortunately, two days before the rupture of
hostilities, she had received news enabling her to avoid being made
prisoner in a concentration camp.... And she did not wish to say more.
She was verbose and frank in the relation of her far-distant
experiences, but the memory of the more recent ones enshrouded her in a
restless and frightened reserve.

To change the course of conversation, she spoke of the dangers that had
threatened her on her journeys.

"We have to be very courageous.... The doctor, just as you see her, is
a heroine.... You laugh, but if you should know her arsenal, perhaps it
might strike fear to your heart. She is a scientist."

The grave