John saw the door open, and a porter of great stature, clad in a uniform, heavy with gold lace, appear, bowing profoundly.  It was often difficult to tell a head porter from a field marshal, but in this case the man’s deferential attitude not only indicated the difference, but the fact also that Auersperg was coming.

The prince, preceded by two young men in close-fitting blue-gray uniforms, came out.  John was bound to confess once more that he was a fine-looking man, large, bearded magnificently, and imposing in appearance and manner.  His effect at a state ball or a reception would be highly decorative, and many a managing American mother would have been glad to secure him as a son-in-law, provided the present war did not make such medieval survivals unfashionable.

Auersperg entered his automobile, a very dark red limousine of great size, and he was shut from John’s view, save only his full beard glimmering faintly through the glass.  More men came, soldiers or attendants, and among them was Antoine Picard, gigantic and sullen.  His arms were unbound and he went with the others willingly.  Perhaps Auersperg had divined that he would not attempt to escape, as long as Julie was in his hands.

Then came the two women, Julie first, and John heard about him the muttered exclamation:  “The French spies!” He knew that this belief had taken strong hold of the soldiers and people who stood about.  Women, when they chose to be, were the most dangerous of all spies and the watchers regarded them with intense curiosity.

Neither was veiled.  Julie was erect, and her chin high.  John saw that the girl had become a woman, matured by hardship and danger, and she looked more beautiful than ever to him that morning.  Her cheeks were pale and tiny curls of the deep golden hair escaped from her hood and clustered about her temples.  John’s heart swam with pity.  Truly, she was a bird in the hands of the fowler.

She gave a glance half appealing and half defiant at the people, but the stalwart Suzanne who followed her was wholly grim and challenging.  Then something strange occurred.  John had the most intense anxiety for her to look at him.  He had no belief whatever in anything supernatural, but sound, intelligible words were made to travel on waves of air, and it was barely possible in this unexplored world that thought too might be propelled in the same way.

Almost unconsciously he kept his eyes upon Julie’s and he poured his very soul into the gaze.  It was only a little distance from the door to the automobile which she was to take, and he had time.  His gaze became concentrated, burning, a thing more of the spirit than of sight, and as her eyes glanced once more about the circle of idle spectators they met his own and rested there.

John looked straight into their dark blue depths and he saw a startled flash leap up.  Chance or a power yet unknown had drawn her gaze and made her vision keen.  He saw that she knew him, knew him even in that peasant’s dress and under the new stubble of beard.  The flash became for a moment a fire, and her figure quivered, but he was not afraid.  He had an instinctive confidence that she would understand, and that she would not betray him by any impulsive act.