Ulysses marveled at the grotesque and dubious proceedings employed by the agents of the spy system.

“But that is like the paper novels!  They are ridiculous and worn-out measures that any one can learn from books and melodramas.”

Freya assented.  For that very reason they were employing them.  The surest way of bewildering the enemy was to avail themselves of obvious methods; thus the modern world, so intelligent and subtle, would refuse to believe in them.  By simply telling the truth, Bismarck had deceived all European diplomacy, for the very reason that nobody was expecting the truth from his lips.

German espionage was comporting itself like the personages in a political novel, and people consequently could not seem to believe in it,—­although it was taking place right under their eyes,—­just because its methods appeared too exaggerated and antiquated.

“Therefore,” she continued, “every time that France uncovers a part of our maneuvers, the opinion of the world which believes only in ingenious and difficult things ridicules it, considering it attacked with a delirium of persecution.”

Women for some time past had been deeply involved in the service of espionage.  There were many as wise as the doctor, as elegant as Freya, and many venerable ones with famous names, winning the confidence that illustrious dowagers inspire.  They were very numerous, but they did not know each other.  Sometimes they met out in the world and were suspicious of each other, but each continued on her special mission, pushed in different directions by an omnipotent and hidden force.

She showed him some portraits that were taken a few years before.  Ulysses was slow to recognize her as a slim Japanese young girl, clad in a dark kimono.

“It is I when I was over there.  It was to our interest to know the real force of that nation of little men with rat-like eyes.”

In another portrait she appeared in short skirt, riding boots, a man’s shirt, and a felt cowboy hat.

“That was from the Transvaal.”

She had gone to South Africa in company with other German women of the “service” in order to sound the state of mind of the Boers under English domination.

“I’ve been everywhere,” she affirmed proudly.

“In Paris, too?” questioned the sailor.

She hesitated before answering, but finally nodded her head....  She had been in Paris many times.  The outbreak of the war had found her living in the Grand Hotel.  Fortunately, two days before the rupture of hostilities, she had received news enabling her to avoid being made prisoner in a concentration camp....  And she did not wish to say more.  She was verbose and frank in the relation of her far-distant experiences, but the memory of the more recent ones enshrouded her in a restless and frightened reserve.

To change the course of conversation, she spoke of the dangers that had threatened her on her journeys.