When Patsy Doyle, escorted by Uncle John and accompanied by Captain Carg, Lieutenant von Holtz and Monsieur Rondel, arrived in the early morning, the streets were comparatively deserted.  The Hotel Royal received them hospitably and the landlord and his daughters prepared them an excellent breakfast.

While eating, Patsy chatted with the Belgian girls, who were neat, modest and intelligent.  She found that Henderson and Rondel had not stopped at this hotel while in Charleroi, but at a smaller inn at the other end of the town.  The girls remembered hearing of their visit and of their inquiries for a Mrs. Denton, but did not know whether they had succeeded in their quest or not.

“We have lived here all our lives,” said the eldest of the landlord’s three daughters, “but we have not known, during that time, any family of Dentons in Charleroi.”

Patsy reflected.

“They were married only five months ago, these Dentons,” said she, “and the young man may have come from some other town.  Do you remember that any of your young girls were married about five months ago?”

Yes; there was Hildegarde Bentel, but she had married Anthony Mattison, who was not a soldier.  Could the American mamselle remember what the girl’s first name was?

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Patsy.  “She signed her letters ‘Elizabeth.’”

They shook their heads.

“My name is also Elizabeth,” said one.  “We have many Elizabeths in Charleroi, but none has lately married.”

“And her husband told me that she was now living here with her mother.”

“Ah, let us see, then,” responded another.  “Could she have been a lady of rank, think you?”

“I—­I do not know.”

“Is her husband an officer?”

“No; a private, I believe.”

“Then we are on the wrong scent,” laughed the girl.  “I had in mind the daughter of the Countess Voig, whose name chances to be Elizabeth.  She was educated at a convent in Antwerp, and the countess has lived in that city for several years, in order to be nearer her daughter.  There was some gossip here that the young lady had married in Antwerp, just after leaving the convent; but we know little of the life of the Voigs because they are very reserved.  Two or three months ago they returned to their castle, which is four miles to the north of Charleroi, and there they are still living in retirement.  Every day the old steward drives into town to visit the post office, but we have not seen the countess nor her daughter since they came back.”

Patsy related this news to Uncle John, who did not understand French.

“Let us drive over to Castle Voig the first thing,” she said.

“But, my dear, it’s unreasonable,” he objected.  “Do you suppose a high-born young lady would marry a common soldier?  In America, where we have no caste, it would be quite probable, but here—­”

“He wasn’t a soldier five months ago,” said Patsy.  “He’s just a volunteer, who joined the army when his country needed him, as many of the wealthy and aristocratic Belgians did.  He may be high-born himself, for all we know.  At any rate I mean to visit that castle.  Tell Rondel to bring around the automobile.”