"The message is from Count Marchand?" cried the girl, in utter amazement.

"But yes. He does not forget his old mother. When able, he always sends me word of cheer. Of course," she added, looking at the American girl curiously now, "there is something else upon the paper. His message to his mother is not a line. You understand, do you not?

Monsieur Lafrane, of course----"

"Monsieur Lafrane has never told me a word," Ruth hastened to say. "I only suspected before to-day that Bubu carried messages back and forth across the lines."

"Ah, but you are to be trusted," the countess said cheerfully. "We do what the Anglais call--how is it?--'our little bit'? Bubu and I. He, too, is French!" and she said it proudly.

"And for years, Mademoiselle, we have established this couriership of Bubu's." She laughed. "Do you know what the farmers say of our so-good dog?"

Ruth nodded. "I have heard the story of the werwolf. And, really, Madame, the look of him as he runs at night would frighten anybody. He is ghostly."

The countess nodded. "In that's his safety--and has been since before the war. For, know you, Mademoiselle, _all_ France was not asleep during those pre-war years when the hateful Hun was preparing and preparing.

"My husband, Mademoiselle Fielding, was a loyal and a far-sighted man.

He did not play politics, and seek to foment trouble for the Republic as so many of our old and n.o.ble families did. Now, thank heaven, they are among our most faithful workers for la patrie.

"But, see you, Count Marchand owned a small estate near Merz, which is just over the border in Germany. Sometimes he would go there--sometimes to drink the waters, for there are springs of note, perhaps for the hunting, for there is a great forest near. He would always take Bubu with him.

"And so we taught Bubu to run back and forth between here and there.

He carried messages around his neck in those times. Quite simple and plain messages, had he been caught at the frontier and examined.

"It was our Henri who resorted to the hollow tooth, and that since the war began. Bubu had one big tooth with a spot on it. Henri knew an American dentist in Paris. Ah, what cannot these Americans do!" and the countess laughed.

"We took Bubu to Paris and had the decayed spot drilled out. The tooth is sound at the root. The dentist made the hole as large as possible and then we moulded the rubber caps to close it. You see how the messages are sent?"

"Remarkable, Madame!" murmured Ruth. "But?"

"Ah? Who sends the messages from beyond the German lines? Now it is Count Allaire himself," she hastened to explain. "In disguise he went through the lines some weeks ago. The agent who was there came under suspicion of the Germans."

"And he lives at the castle over there in Germany--openly?" gasped Ruth.

"Nay, nay! It is no castle at best," and the countess laughed. "It is by no means as great a place as this. It was a modest little house and is now the comfortable quarters of a fat old Prussian general.

"But upon the estate is the cottage of a loyal Frenchman. He was gardener there in my husband's time. But as he bears a German name and his wife is German, they have never suspected him.

"It is with this old gardener, Brodart, my son communicates; and it is to him our good Bubu goes."

"But how can the dog get across No Man's Land?" cried Ruth. "I do not understand that at all!"

"There are bare and bleak places between the lines which we know nothing about," the countess said, shaking her head. "Not in all places are the two armies facing each other at a distance of a few hundred yards. There is the lake and swampland of Savoie, for instance. A great s.p.a.ce divides the trenches there--all of two miles.

Patrols are continually pa.s.sing to and fro by night there, and from both sides. A man can easily get through, let alone a dog.

"Hush!" she added, lowering her voice. "Of course, I fear n.o.body here now. Poor Bessie--who was faithful to me for so many years--was contaminated by German gold. But she was half German at best. It was well the poor soul escaped as she did.

"However, my remaining servants I can trust. Yet there are things one does not speak of, Mademoiselle. You understand? There are many good men and true who take their lives in their hands and go back and forth between the enemy's lines and our own. They offer their lives upon the altar of their country's need."

CHAPTER XVII

THE WORST IS TOLD

"But, Major Marchand? What of him?" Ruth asked, deeply interested in what the countess had said.

"He, too, is in the secret work," responded the countess, smiling faintly. "My older son claimed the right of undertaking the more perilous task. Likewise he was the more familiar with the vicinity of our summer estate at Merz, having been there often with his father."

"But Major Henri goes back and forth, along the front, both by flying machine and in other ways?" Ruth asked. "I am sure I have seen him----"

She wanted to tell the countess how she had misjudged the major. But she hesitated. There was the matter of Nicko, the chocolate peddler, and the man who looked like him!

Could that disguised man have been the major? And if so, what was his interest in the German officer who had so suddenly died in the field hospital--the occupant of Cot 24, Hut H?

The girl's mind was still in a whirl. Had she called Lafrane to the front for nothing at all? Had she really been stirring up a mare's nest? She listened, however, to the countess' further observations:

"But yes, Mademoiselle, we all do what we may. My sons are hard at work for la patrie--and brave Bubu!" and she laughed. "Of course your American soldiers cannot be expected to take over the scouting on this front, not altogether, for they do not know the country as do we French. Yet some of your young men, Henri tells me, show marvelous adaptability in the work. Is it the Red Indian blood in them, think you, that makes them so proficient in scouting?" she added innocently.

But Ruth did not laugh. Indeed, she felt very serious, for she was thinking of Tom Cameron. Major Henri Marchand must know about Tom--where he was and what he was doing. That is, if it had been the major who had dropped the message from Tom at her feet the day before.

She could not discuss this matter with the countess. And yet the girl was so troubled regarding Tom's affairs that she felt equal to almost any reckless attempt to gain information about him.

Before the girl could decide to speak, however, there was a step upon the bare floor of the great entrance hall of the chateau. The ringing step came nearer, and the countess raised her head.

"Henri! Come in! Come in!" she cried as the door opened.

Major Marchand marched into the room breezily, still in the dress uniform Ruth had seen at Aunt Abelard's cottage.

"Ah, Mademoiselle!" he cried, having kissed his mother's hand and suddenly beholding the girl who had shyly retired to the other side of the hearth. "May I greet you?"

He came around the tea table and took her hand. She did not withdraw it abruptly this time as he pressed his lips respectfully to her fingers. But she did blush under his admiring glance.

"See, Henri!" his mother cried. "It is the good Bubu who has brought it. In code. Can you read it?"

She thrust the whisp of paper, taken from the dog's hollow tooth, under his eyes before pouring his cup of tea. Henri, begging Ruth's indulgence with a look, sat down before the table, his sword clanking.

He smoothed the paper out upon the board and drew the reading gla.s.s to him.

"Wait!" Countess Marchand said. "You have had no luncheon! You are hungry, my dear boy?"

She hurried out of the room intent upon her son's comfort. Ruth watched the countenance of the major as he read the code message. She saw his expression become both serious and troubled.

Suddenly he turned in his chair and looked at the American girl. His gaze seemed significant, and Ruth began to tremble.

"Mademoiselle?"

"Yes, Monsieur?"

"You have questions to ask me, _hein_?"