“Behold your destination!  The large house on the hill.  It is the headquarters of a person of importance, and you will find quarters there also.  I trust that the ladies will hold no ill will against me.  I’ve done only what my orders have compelled me to do.”

“We do not, sir,” said Julie.

The officer bowed low and rode back to the head of the column.  He was a gallant man and John liked him.  But his attention was directed now to the house, an old French chateau standing among oaks.  The German flag flew over it and sentinels rode back and forth on the lawn.  John remembered the officer’s words that a “person of importance” was making his headquarters there.  It must be one of the five German army commanders, at least.

He looked long at the chateau.  It was much such a place as that in which Carstairs, Wharton and he had once found refuge, and from the roof of which Wharton had worked the wireless with so much effect.  But houses of this type were numerous throughout Western Europe.

It was only two stories in height, large, with long low windows, and the lawn was more like a park in size.  It as now the scene of abundant life, although, as John knew instinctively, not the life of those to whom it belonged.  A number of young officers sat on the grass reading, and at the edge of the grounds stood a group of horses with their riders lying on the ground near them.  Not far away were a score of high powered automobiles, several of which were armored.  John also saw beyond them a battery of eight field guns, idle now and with their gunners asleep beside them.  He had no doubt that other troops in thousands were not far away and that, in truth, they were in the very thick of the German army.

The chateau and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate.  A group of officers who had been sitting on the grass, reading a newspaper, came forward to meet them and John, to his amazement and delight, recognized the young prince, von Arnheim.  It was impossible for him to regard von Arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart he said: 

“I had to leave you for a while.  It had become irksome to be a prisoner, but you see I’ve come back.”

Von Arnheim stared, then recognition came.

“Ah, it’s Scott, the American!  I speak truth when I say that I’m sorry to see you here.”

“I’m sorry to come,” said John, “but I’d rather be your prisoner than anybody else’s, and I wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, Mademoiselle Julie Lannes, the sister of that great French aviator of whom everybody has heard.”

“I’ll do what I can, but you’re mistaken in assuming that I’m in command here.  There’s a higher personage—­but pardon me, I must speak to the lieutenant.”

The officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report and have done with an unpleasant duty.  Von Arnheim gave him rapid directions in German and then asked Julie and the two Picards to dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.