“Of an irregularity,” he repeated.  “But also it was of a gallantry.  With a boldness and a resource and a scorn for danger that, permit me to say, mark your compatriots, you have unmasked and handed over to us one of our most dangerous foes.  For such service as you have rendered France is never ungrateful.  And, moreover, there have been friends to plead your cause and to plead it well.”

As he ended he cast a glance at the Duke of Raincy-la-Tour and one at Dunny, whereupon I was enlightened as to the purpose of my guardian’s three trips to Paris the preceding week.  I believe I have said before that Dunny knows every one, everywhere; in fact, I have always felt that should circumstances conspire to make me temporarily adopt a life of crime, he could manage to pull such wires as would reinstate me in the public eye.  But the general was stepping close to me.

“Monsieur,” he was saying, “we are now allies, my country and the great nation of which you are a son.  Very soon your troops are coming.  You will fight on our soil, beneath your own banner.  But your first blood was shed for France, your first wounds borne for her, Monsieur; and in gratitude she offers you this medal of her brave.”

He was pinning something to my coat, a bronze-colored, cross-shaped something, a decoration that swung proudly from a ribbon of red and green.  I knew it well; I had seen it on the breasts of generals, captains, simple poilus, all the picked flower of the French nation.  With a thrill I looked down upon it.  It was the Cross of War.

CHAPTER XXVII

A THUNDERBOLT OF WAR

The great moment had arrived.  General Le Cazeau and his staff were on their way back to Paris.  The duke and duchess were at the chateau talking with the blesses; for the second time Dunny had tactfully disappeared.  The approach of evening had spurred my faltering courage.  As the first rosiness of sunset touched the skies beyond Raincy-la-Tour and lay across the water, I sat at the side of the only girl in the world and poured out my plea.

“It isn’t fair, you know,” I mourned.  “I’ve only a few minutes.  I shouldn’t wonder if we heard your car honking for you in half an hour.  To make a girl like you look at a man like me would take days of eloquence, and, besides, who would think of marrying any one with his head bound up Turkish fashion as mine is now?”

She laughed, and at the silvery sound of it I plucked up a hint of courage; for surely, I thought, she wasn’t cruel enough to make game of me as she turned me down.  Still, I couldn’t really hope.  She was too wonderful, and my courtship had been too inadequate.  Despondent, arms on my knees, I harped upon the same string.

“I’ve never had a chance to show you,” I lamented, “that I am civilized; that I know how to take care of you and put cushions behind you and slide footstools under your feet, and—­er—­all that.  We’ve been too busy eluding Germans and racing through forbidden zones and rescuing papers from behind secret panels, for me to wait on you.  Good heavens!  To think how I’ve done my duty by a hundred girls I shouldn’t know from Eve if they happened along this moment!  And I’ve never even sent you a box of marrons glaces or flowers.”