n an intimate of the splendid desperation of the Browns; known their
thoughts and feelings. What a multitude of impressions were stored in
her sensitive mind, impressions which, for the moment, seemed to benumb
her! How she could make them speak from her eyes and quiver from her
very finger-tips when she chose! He would yet hear her vivid account of
all that she had seen. It would be informatory--a reflection of the
spirit of the Browns. Her quietness itself was compelling in its latent
strength, and strength was the thing he most admired. More and more
questions winged themselves into his thoughts, while his next one served
the purpose of passing the time until Hugo came.

"There was a man out of uniform, in a gardener's garb, in charge of the
automatic," he remarked. "It was so puzzling that I heard of it. You
see, there is no limit to what a chief of staff may know."

"Yes, our gardener," she replied.

"Your gardener! Why, how was that? Wasn't he in the reserves if he were
a Brown? Wasn't he called to the colors at the outbreak of the war?"

In spite of himself the questions were somewhat sharp. They seemed to
take Marta by surprise, which, however, was evanescent.

"I wonder!" she said, as interested as Westerling in the suggestion.
"Something a soldier would think of immediately and a woman wouldn't. I
know that we lost our gardener."

That was all. She did not attempt any further explanation or enlarge on
the subject, but let it go as an inquiry unexplained in the course of
conversation.

Had Westerling been inclined to pursue it further he would have been
interrupted by the arrival of a figure with a bandaged leg and head
which came hobbling cheerfully around the corner of the house on
crutches, escorted by an infantryman. The guard saluted and withdrew
into the background. Hugo saluted and removed his cap and looked at
Westerling with the faintest turn of a smile on his lips, which plainly
spoke his quizzical appreciation of the fact that he was in the presence
of dazzling heights for a private.

Marta had a single glance from him--a glance of peculiar inquiry and
astonishment, sweeping over the tea things fairly into her eyes. Then it
was gone. He might have been the most dutiful and respectful soldier of
the five millions as he waited on the head of the five millions to
speak.

Westerling read the four charges. Then he asked the stereotyped
question:

"What have you to say to them?"

When he look