n to her, she
had won my admiration. She was very beautiful, and I--well, I was only a
man, and human.

One bright morning, when the car came to Paris, I called for her, at
Bindo's orders, at her flat in the Avenue Kleber, where she lived, it
appeared, with a prim, sharp-nosed old aunt, of angular appearance,
peculiarly French. She soon appeared, dressed in the very latest
motor-clothes, with her veil properly fixed, in a manner which showed me
instantly that she was a motorist. Besides, she would not enter the car,
but got up beside me, wrapped a rug about her skirts in a business-like
manner, and gave me the order to move.

"Where to, mademoiselle?" I asked.

"Did not the Count give you instructions?" she asked in her pretty
broken English, turning her great dark eyes upon me in surprise. "Why,
to Brussels, of course."

"To Brussels!" I ejaculated, for I thought the run was to be only about
Paris--to meet Bindo, perhaps.

"Yes. Are you surprised?" she laughed. "It is not far--two hundred
kilometres, or so. Surely that is nothing for you?"

"Not at all. Only the Count is at the Ritz. Shall we not call there
first?"

"The Count left for Belgium by the seven-fifty train this morning," was
her reply. "He has taken our baggage with his, and you will take me by
road alone."

I was, of course, nothing loth to spend a few hours with such a charming
companion as La Valentine; therefore in the Avenue des Champs Elysees I
pulled up, and consulting my road-book, decided to go by way of Arras,
Douai, St. Amand, and Ath. Quickly we ran out beyond the fortifications;
while, driving in silence, I wondered what this latest manoeuvre was
to be. This sudden flight from Paris was more than mysterious. It caused
me considerable apprehension, for when I had seen the Count in his room
at midnight he had made no mention of his intention to leave so early.

At last, out upon the straight highway that ran between lines of high
bare poplars, I put on speed, and quickly the cloud of white dust rose
behind us. The northerly wind that grey day was biting, and threatened
snow; therefore my pretty companion very soon began to feel the cold. I
saw her turning up the collar of her cloth motor-coat, and guessed that
she had no leather beneath. To do a day's journey in comfort in such
weather one must be wind-proof.

"You are cold, mademoiselle," I remarked. "Will you not put on my
leather jacket? You'll feel the benefit of it, even though