was tanned deeply, and
face and figure alike seemed the embodiment of strength. One might
dislike him, but one could not despise him. John even found it in his
heart to respect him, as he returned the steady gaze of the blue eyes
with a look equally as firm.

"I hope," said John, "that you will send back Mademoiselle Lannes and
the nurses with her to her people. I take it that you're not making war
upon women."

Von Boehlen gave Julie a quick glance of curiosity and admiration. But
the eyes flashed for only a moment and then were expressionless.

"I know of one Lannes," he said, "Philip Lannes, the aviator, a name
that fame has brought to us Germans."

"I am his sister," said Julie.

"I can wish, Mademoiselle Lannes," said von Boehlen, politely in French,
"that we had captured your brother instead of his sister."

"But as I said, you will send them back to their own people? You don't
make war upon women?" repeated John.

"No, we do not make war upon women. We are making war upon Frenchmen,
and I do not hesitate to say in the presence of Mademoiselle Lannes that
this war is made upon very brave Frenchmen. Yet we cannot send the
ladies back. The presence of our cavalry here within the French lines
must not be known to our enemies. Moreover, I obey the orders of
another, and I am compelled to hold them as prisoners--for a while at
least."

Von Boehlen's tone was not lacking in the least in courtesy. It was more
than respectful when he spoke directly to Julie Lannes, and John's
feeling of repugnance to him underwent a further abatement--he was a
creation of his conditions, and he believed in his teachings.

"You will at least keep us all as prisoners together?" said John.

"I know of no reason to the contrary," replied von Boehlen briefly. Then
he acted with the decision that characterized all the German officers
whom John had seen. The women and the prisoners were put in the carts.
Dismounted Uhlans took the place of the drivers and the little
procession with an escort of about fifty cavalry turned from the road
into the woods, von Boehlen and the rest, about five hundred in number,
rode on down the road.

John was in the last cart with Julie, Suzanne and Picard, and his soul
was full of bitter chagrin. He had just been taking mental resolutions
to protect, no matter what came, Philip Lannes' sister, and, within a
half hour, both she and he were prisoners. But when he saw the face of
Antoine Picard he knew th