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“For a few days,” explained the officer, “you remain in this chateau. You will keep us informed of what is going forward after we withdraw.”

“Withdraw?” It was more of an exclamation than a question. Marie was too well trained to ask questions.

“We are taking up a new position,” said the officer, “on the Aisne.”

The woman, incredulous, stared.

“And we do not enter Paris?”

“You do,” returned the officer. “That is all that concerns you. We will join you later–in the spring. Meanwhile, for the winter we intrench ourselves along the Aisne. In a chimney of this chateau we have set up a wireless outfit. We are leaving it intact. The chauffeur Briand–who, you must explain to the French, you brought with you from Laon, and who has been long in your service–will transmit whatever you discover. We wish especially to know of any movement toward our left. If they attack in front from Soissons, we are prepared; but of any attempt to cross the Oise and take us in flank you must warn us.”

The officer rose and hung upon himself his field-glasses, map-cases, and side-arms.

“We leave you now,” he said. “When the French arrive you will tell them your reason for halting at this chateau was that the owner, Monsieur Iverney, and his family are friends of your husband. You found us here, and we detained you. And so long as you can use the wireless, make excuses to remain. If they offer to send you on to Paris, tell them your aunt is too ill to travel.”

“But they will find the wireless,” said the woman. “They are sure to use the towers for observation, and they will find it.”

“In that case,” said the officer, “you will suggest to them that we fled in such haste we had no time to dismantle it. Of course, you had no knowledge that it existed, or, as a loyal French woman, you would have at once told them.” To emphasize his next words the officer pointed at her: “Under no circumstances,” he continued, “must you be suspected. If they should take Briand in the act, should they have even the least doubt concerning him, you must repudiate him entirely. If necessary, to keep your own skirts clear, it would be your duty yourself to denounce him as a spy.”

“Your first orders,” said the woman, “were to tell them Briand had been long in my service; that I brought him from my home in Laon.”

“He might be in your service for years,” returned the colonel, “and you not know he was a German agent.”

“If to save myself I inform upon him,” said Marie, “of course you know you will lose him.”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “A wireless operator,” he retorted, “we can replace. But for you, and for the service you are to render in Paris, we have no substitute. You must not be found out. You are invaluable.”

The spy inclined her head. “I thank you,” she said.

The officer sputtered indignantly.

“It is not a compliment,” he exclaimed; “it is an order. You must not be found out!”

Withdrawn some two hundred yards from the Paris road, the chateau stood upon a wooded hill. Except directly in front, trees of great height surrounded it. The tips of their branches brushed the windows; interlacing, they continued until they overhung the wall of the estate. Where it ran with the road the wall gave way to a lofty gate and iron fence, through which those passing could see a stretch of noble turf, as wide as a polo-field, borders of flowers disappearing under the shadows of the trees; and the chateau itself, with its terrace, its many windows, its high-pitched, sloping roof, broken by towers and turrets.

Through the remainder of the night there came from the road to those in the chateau the roar and rumbling of the army in retreat. It moved without panic, disorder, or haste, but unceasingly. Not for an instant was there a breathing-spell. And when the sun rose, the three spies–the two women and the chauffeur–who in the great chateau were now alone, could see as well as hear the gray column of steel rolling past below them.