Nevertheless, the American girl had a particular object in mind when she set forth briskly for the chateau on this afternoon. She was free until bedtime, and during this contemplated call on the countess she was determined to learn what the young Count Marchand looked like.

On the edge of the town she spied an automobile approaching, and soon recognized Henriette Dupay behind the windshield. Ruth stopped and waved her hand. For a moment she thought the French girl was disinclined to stop at all.

However, Ruth did not propose to give Henriette an opportunity to show any unfriendliness. She liked the girl and she understood that the whole matter would be smoothed over in time. The reason for Aunt Abelard's uprooting would become apparent to the French people, and their momentary feeling against the Americans would change.

Henriette's face was quite flushed, however, when she stopped her car and returned briefly Ruth's greeting.

"How is Aunt Abelard?" the latter asked. She told Henriette how she had chanced to be present when the old woman was forced to leave her homestead.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, she is heart-broken!" declared Henriette, quite eschewing English now. "Yes, heart-broken! She arrived at our house with only two pullets. All the others were stolen by the Americans,"

and the girl tossed her head angrily.

"How about the forty francs she was given in lieu of the pullets?" Ruth asked, laughing. "Did she tell you about that?"

"But yes," returned the French girl, rather taken aback. "But that was given to her by Major Henri Marchand. He is so good!"

"True. But it is probable that she will make application to the American officers and will be reimbursed a second time," Ruth said dryly. "As far as the pullets go, Henriette, I believe they are a small loss to Aunt Abelard."

"But her house! Her home!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the French girl.

"Of what use would that be to her had she remained and there should come the bombardment that everybody says is coming? The German sh.e.l.ls may tear her cottage to bits."

Henriette shrugged her truly French shoulders. She evidently did not believe in the threatened bombardment. The guns of the front had been quiet for two days.

So she nodded to Ruth rather coldly and drove on into town. But Ruth went away smiling. She was quite convinced that Henriette and her family would soon find out their mistake, and then they would be on friendly terms with her again. The Latin nature is easily offended; but it is usually just.

She saw n.o.body else in her walk to the chateau. There she had to wait for some minutes at the gate for Dolge to answer her summons.

"The Mademoiselle Fielding," he said, bowing. "I am sure the countess will approve my asking you in at once. She is fond of you, Mademoiselle."

"I am glad, Dolge. I like to have people approve of me," smiled Ruth.

"Ah, yes, Mademoiselle. And the major--our Henri, our cadet! I am sure _he_ approves of you, Mademoiselle."

The American girl flushed warmly, but managed to hide her disturbed countenance from the old serving man.

"He is not at home, is he, Dolge?" she quietly asked.

"But, no, Mademoiselle. He went hurriedly yesterday. And would you believe it?"

"Believe what?"

"He went in one of those flying machines. _Oui_! _Oui_! Right up into the sky, Mademoiselle," went on the old man excitedly. "Yonder he mounted it beyond the gates. Ah, these times! It is so that soon one will take an aeroplane as one takes a taxicab in the city. Is it not?"

Ruth listened and marveled. Major Marchand flying into the air from the chateau here on yesterday, when it was only yesterday that she met him, in his brave uniform, taking pity on a poor old woman who was driven out of the battle zone?

Suddenly her mind caught the point. The cogs slipped into juxtaposition, as it were, and everything unrolled in its proper sequence before her.

It was on yesterday, as she went toward the Dupay farm, that she had seen the rising aeroplane, from which had been dropped the paper bomb, wherein Ruth had found the message from Tom Cameron. It was from just beyond the gates that Dolge said the machine rose that had borne away Major Marchand from the chateau.

"The time, Dolge?" she demanded, stopping short in the walk and looking at the surprised old servant. "The time that Major Henri flew away?"

"Oh, la! It was around one of the clock. Not later."

That was the hour! Ruth was confident she was making no mistake now.

It was either the major, or the pilot of the plane, that had dropped the message to her. Two hours and a half later she had seen the major at the cot of Aunt Abelard. He might easily have flown clear beyond the German lines and back again by that time. And he might easily have worn his major's uniform beneath his other garments.

But Tom's message. That was the point that puzzled her. If dropped by Major Marchand, how had he obtained it? What did the French officer, whose loyalty she doubted, have to do with Tom Cameron, whose loyalty she never for a moment doubted?

Ruth went on ahead of the wondering Dolge, vastly troubled. At every turn she was meeting incidents or surprising discoveries that entangled her mind more and more deeply in a web of doubt and mystery.

Where was Tom? Where did the major fly to? Where was he coming from when she had seen him walking down that country road where Aunt Abelard was having her unfortunate argument with the American soldiers?

The twists and turns of this mystery were enough to drive the girl distracted. And each incident which rose seemed to be dovetailed to some other part of the mystery.

Now she was suddenly sorry that she had not opened her heart entirely to Monsieur Lafrane. She wished she had told him about Tom Cameron, and the fears she felt for him, and what was said about him by his comrades. He might at least have been able to advise her.

She came to the chateau, therefore, in a most uncertain frame of mind.

She was really in no mood for a social call.

But there was the countess walking on the paved court before the main door of the chateau. It was a fine day, and she walked up and down, with a shawl about her shoulders, humming a cheerful little song.

"Dear Mademoiselle Ruth!" she said, giving the girl her hands--soft and white, with a network of blue veins on their backs. "I am charmed. If it were not for you and our little Hetty I should scarcely feel I had a social life at all."

She spoke to Dolge as he hobbled away.

"Tell them to make tea," she said.

"Yes, Madame la Countess," he mumbled.

She took the arm of the strong young girl and walked with her up and down the portico.

"Henri will be disappointed in not seeing you, Mademoiselle. He went yesterday--called back to his duties."

"And by aeroplane, they tell me," answered the girl.

"Think!" exclaimed the countess, shrugging her shoulders. "A few months ago the thought of one of my boys mounting into the air would have kept me awake all of the night. And I slept like a child!"

"We grow used to almost everything, do we not?" Ruth said.

"War changes our outlook on life. Of course, I am not a.s.sured that he safely landed yesterday----"

"I can a.s.sure you of that, Madame, myself," said Ruth, without thinking far ahead when she said it.

"_You_, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes. I saw him--on the ground. He was all right," the girl added, dryly.