, besides attaining to
the rank of lieutenant, gaining, after his famous night flight across
Mulhausen for bomb-dropping purposes, the affectionate sobriquet of the
Firefly of France, and winning in rapid succession the military Medal,
the ribbon of the Legion of Honor, and the Cross of War with palms.

According to rumor, the duke was lately intrusted with a mission of
exceptional peril, involving a flight into hostile territory and the
capture of certain photographs of defenses much needed for the plans
of the supreme command. With his wonted brilliancy, he is said to have
accomplished the errand and to have returned in safety as far as the
French lines. Here, however, we enter the realm of conjecture. The duke
has disappeared; the plans he bore have never reached the generalissimo;
and rumor persistently declares that at some point upon his return
journey he was intercepted by German agents and induced by bribes or
coercion to deliver up his spoils. By one version he was later captured
and summarily executed by the French; while his friends, denying this,
pin their hopes to his death at the hands of the enemy, as offering the
best outcome of the unsavory event.

The family of the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour has been noted in the past for
its pronouncedly Royalist tendencies, the attitude of his father and
grandfather toward the republic having been hostile in the extreme.
It is believed that this fact may have its significance in the present
episode. The occurrence is of special interest to the United States in
view of the recent (Continued on Page Three)

Before proceeding, I glanced at the pictured face. The Duke of
Raincy-la-tour looked back at me with cool, clear eyes, smiling half
aloofly, a little scornfully, as in the presence of danger the true
Frenchman is apt to smile.

"I don't think, Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier," I reflected, "that you ever
talked to the Germans except with bombs. They probably got you, poor
chap, and you're lying buried somewhere while the gossips make a holiday
of the fact that you don't come home. Confound 'current rumors' anyhow,
and yellow papers too!"

"I beg your pardon," said a low contralto voice.

The girl in the fur coat was standing at my shoulder. I turned, lifting
my cap, wondering what under heaven she could want. I was not much
pleased to tell the truth; a goddess shouldn't step from her pedestal
to chat with strangers. Then suddenly I recognized a distinct oddness in
her