"If they want more concessions in price, do not let them frighten you.
Go to Monsieur le Maire to have it arranged with justice. These people
would eat the skin off your back. Remember, Jeanne."

"_Bien, ma tante_," said Jeanne.

She went downstairs, conscious of gripping herself in order to discuss
with the officers whatever business of billeting was in hand. For she
had dealt with all such matters since her arrival in Frelus. She
reached the front door and saw a dusty car with a military chauffeur
at the wheel and two officers, standing on the pavement at the foot of
the steps. One she recognized as the commander of the company to which
her billeted men belonged. The other was a stranger, a lieutenant,
with a different badge on his cap. They were talking and laughing
together, like old friends newly met, which by one of the myriad
coincidences of the war was really the case. On the appearance of
Jeanne they drew themselves up and saluted politely.

"Mademoiselle Bossiere?"

"_Oui, monsieur._" Then, "Will you enter, messieurs?"

They entered the vestibule where the great cask gleamed in its
polished mahogany and brass. She bade them be seated.

"Mademoiselle, Captain Willoughby tells me that you had billeted here
last week a soldier by the name of Trevor," said the stranger, in
excellent French, taking out notebook and pencil.

Jeanne's lips grew white. She had not suspected their errand.

"_Oui, monsieur._"

"Did you have much talk with him?"

"Much, monsieur."

"Pardon my indiscretion, mademoiselle--it is military service, and I
am an Intelligence officer--but did you tell him about your private
affairs?"

"Very intimately," said Jeanne.

The Intelligence officer made a note or two and smiled pleasantly--but
Jeanne could have struck him for daring to smile. "You had every
reason for thinking him a man of honour?"

"What's the good of asking her that, Smithers?" Captain Willoughby
interrupted in English. "Haven't I given you my word? The man's a
mysterious little devil, but any fool can see that he's a gentleman."

"What do you say?" Jeanne asked tensely.

"_Je parle francais tres peu_," replied Captain Willoughby with an
air of regret.

Smithers explained. "Monsieur le Capitaine says that he guarantees the
honesty of the soldier, Trevor."

Jeanne flashed, rigid. "Who could doubt it, monsieur? He was a
gentleman, a _fils de famille_, of the English aristocracy."

"Excuse me for a moment," sa