“But,” I protested weakly, “you can’t do that!  It’s in the war country; it’s forbidden territory.  One has to have safe-conducts, laissez-passers, all sorts of documents to get into that part of France.”

“I didn’t come unprepared,” she answered stubbornly.  “Before I started I knew just what I should need.  I can get as far as the hospital at Carrefonds; and Carrefonds is beyond Prezelay, ten miles nearer to the Front!”

“But—­” The monosyllable was distinctly tactless.

She straightened, challenging me with brave, defiant eyes.

“I know,” she flashed.  “You mean it looks suspicious.  Well, it does; and if I told you everything, it would look more suspicious still.  You shouldn’t have followed me; when they learn that we both spent the night here they will think you are my—­my accomplice.  The best advice I can give you, Mr. Bayne, is to go away.”

“Perhaps we had better,” I agreed stolidly.  I had deserved the outburst.  “Shall we be off at once, before the servants come downstairs?”

She drew back, her eyes widening.

“We?” she repeated.

“Naturally!” I replied, with some temper.  “I must have disgusted you last night.  What sort of a miserable, spineless, cowardly, caddish travesty of a man do you take me for, to think I would let you go alone?”

“Please don’t joke,” she urged.  “It simply isn’t possible.  You would get into trouble with the French Government, and—­”

“Do you know,” I grinned, “it is rather exhilarating to snap one’s fingers at governments?  Just see what success I made of it with Great Britain and Italy, on the ship!”

“You don’t realize what you are laughing at,” she pleaded.  “It is dangerous.”

“I won’t disgrace you.  I seldom tremble visibly, Miss Falconer, though I often shake inside.”

Her great gray eyes were glowing mistily.

“Mr. Bayne, this is splendid of you.  I—­I shall go on more bravely because you have been so kind.  But I won’t let you make such a sacrifice or mix in a thing that others may think disloyal, treacherous.  You know how it looks.  Why, on the steamer and on the way up to France and even last evening—­you see I’ve guessed now why you followed me—­you didn’t trust me yourself.”

“I know it,” I confessed humbly.  “I can’t believe I was such an idiot.  Somebody ought to perform a surgical operation on my brain.  I apologize; I’m down in the dust; I feel like groveling.  Won’t you forgive me?  I promise you won’t have to do it twice.”

This time it was she who said:  “But—­” and paused uncertainly.  I could see she was wavering, and I massed my horse, foot, and dragoons for the attack.

“You’ll please consider me,” I proclaimed firmly, “to be a tyrant.  I am so much bigger than you are that you can’t possibly drive me off.  I don’t mean to interfere or to ask questions, or to bother you.  But I vow I’m coming with you if I cling to the running-board!”