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MAURICE LEBLANC


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THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY









Unmasked and helpless, she maintained an attitude of
challenge and defiance


THE WOMAN OF
MYSTERY
BY
MAURICE LEBLANC
AUTHOR OF "CONFESSIONS OF ARSÈNE LUPIN,"
"THE TEETH OF THE TIGER,” ETC.
NEW YORK
THE MACAULAY COMPANY


P23648.95
CITLIGE !
COPYRIGHT, 1916,
BY THE MACAULAY COMPANY


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
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.
.
.
.
.
.
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.
.
.
.
141
41. THE MURDER . . . . . . .
II. Tue Locked Room . . . . . .
III. The Call to Arms. . .
IV. A LETTER FROM ELISABETH . . . .
V. THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY . .
VI. WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN
VII. H. E. R. M. . . . . . . .
108
VIII. ELISABETH's Diary. ..
. . 126
IX. A SPRIG OF EMPIRE . . . . . .
X. 75 or 155? . . . . . . . .
XI. “YBERY, MISERY” . . . . . . . . 167
XII. MAJOR HERMANN . . . . . . . 182
XIII. THE FERRYMAN's House . . . .
XIV. A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR
220
XV. Prince Conrad Makes MERRY .
236
XVI. The ImpossIBLE STRUGGLE . . . . . .
XVII. The Law OF THE CONQUEROR . . . . . 277
XVIII. HILL 132 . . . . . . . . . 292
XIX. HOHENZOLLERN . . . . . . . . 310
XX. THE DEATH PENALTY-AND A CAPITAL PUNISHMENT 330
.
.
198
.
.
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.
.
.
258
.
.
.
.


-
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--


THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY





THE WOMAN OF
MYSTERY
CHAPTER I
THE MURDER
“SUPPOSE I were to tell you,” said Paul Delroze,
“that I once stood face to face with him on
French. ..."
Élisabeth looked up at him with the fond expres- ,
sion of a bride to whom the least word of the man
she loves is a subject of wonder:
“You have seen William II. in France?”
“Saw him with my own eyes; and I have never
forgotten a single one of the details that marked
the meeting. And yet it happened very long ago."
He was speaking with a sudden seriousness, as
though the revival of that memory had awakened
the most painful thoughts in his mind.
“Tell me about it, won't you, Paul?” asked Élisa-
beth.
"Yes, I will,” he said. “In any case, though I was
only a child at the time, the incident played so


10
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
10
tragic a part in my life that I am bound to tell you
the whole story.”
The train stopped and they got out at Corvigny,
the last station on the local branch line which, start-
ing from the chief town in the department, runs
through the Liseron Valley and ends, fifteen miles
from the frontier, at the foot of the little Lorraine
city which Vauban, as he tells us in his "Memoirs,"
surrounded “with the most perfect demilunes imagi-
nable.”
The railway-station presented an appearance of
unusual animation. There were numbers of soldiers,
including many officers. A crowd of passengers,
tradespeople, peasants, workmen and visitors to the
neighboring health-resorts served by Corvigny-
stood amid piles of luggage on the platform, await-
ing the departure of the next train for the junc-
tion.
It was the last Thursday in July, the Thursday
before the mobilization of the French army.
Élisabeth pressed up against her hustand:
“Oh, Paul,” she said, shivering with anxiety, "if
only we don't have war!”
“War! What an idea!"
“But look at all these people leaving, all these
families running away from the frontier !”
“That proves nothing."
"No, but you saw it in the paper just now. The
news is very bad. Germany is preparing for war.
She has planned the whole thing. ... Oh, Paul, if


THE MURDER
11
we were to be separated! ... I should know noth-
ing about you ... and you might be wounded ...
and ..."
He squeezed her hand:
“Don't be afraid, Élisabeth. Nothing of the kind
will happen. There can't be war unless somebody
declares it. And who would be fool enough, crimi-
nal enough, to do anything so abominable?”
"I am not afraid,” she said, "and I am sure that
I should be very brave if you had to go. Only ...
only it would be worse for us than for anybody else.
Just think, darling: we were only married this morn-
ing!”
At this reference to their wedding of a few hours
ago, containing so great a promise of deep and last-
ing joy, her charming face lit up, under its halo
of golden curls, with a smile of utter trustfulness;
and she whispered:
"Married this morning, Paul! . . . So you can
understand that my load of happiness is not yet very
heavy.”
There was a movement among the crowd. Every-
body gathered around the exit. A general officer,
accompanied by two aides-de-camp, stepped out into
the station-yard, where a motor-car stood waiting
for him. The strains were heard of a military band;
a battalion of light infantry marched down the road.
Next came a team of sixteen horses, driven by artil-
lery-men and dragging an enormous siege-piece
which, in spite of the weight of its carriage, looked


12
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
light, because of the extreme length of the gun. A
herd of bullocks followed.
Paul, who was unable to find a porter, was stand-
in on the pavement, carrying the two traveling-
bags, when a man in leather gaiters, green velveteen
breeches and a shooting-jacket with horn buttons,
came up to him and raised his cap:
“M. Paul Delroze?” he said. “I am the keeper at
the château."
He had a powerful, open face, a skin hardened by
exposure to the sun and the cold, hair that was al-
ready turning gray and that rather uncouth manner
often displayed by old servants whose place allows
them a certain degree of independence. For seven-
teen years he had lived on the great estate of Orne-
quin, above Corvigny, and managed it for Élisa-
beth's father, the Comte d'Andeville.
“Ah, so you're Jérôme?” cried Paul. “Good! I
see you had the Comte d’Andeville's letter. Have
our servants come?”
“They arrived this morning, sir, the three of them;
and they have been helping my wife and me to tidy
up the house and make it ready to receive the master
and the mistress.”
He took off his cap again to Élisabeth, who said:
“Then you remember me, Jérôme? It is so long
since I was here !"
"Mlle. Élisabeth was four years old then. It was
a real sorrow for my wife and me when we heard that
you would not come back to the house . . . nor


THE MURDER
13
Monsieur le Comte either, because of his poor dead
wife. So Monsieur le Comte does not mean to pay
us a little visit this year?”
“No, Jérôme, I don't think so. Though it is so
many years ago, my father is still very unhappy.”
Jérôme took the bags and placed them in a fly
which he had ordered at Corvigny. The heavy lug-
gage was to follow in the farm-cart.
It was a fine day and Paul told them to lower the
hood. Then he and his wife took their seats.
"It's not a very long drive," said the keeper.
“Under ten miles. But it's up-hill all the way.”
“Is the house more or less fit to live in?” asked
Paul.
“Well, it's not like a house that has been lived
in; but you'll see for yourself, sir. We've done the
best we could. My wife is so pleased that you and
the mistress are coming! You'll find her waiting for
her at the foot of the steps. I told her that you
would be there between half-past six and seven. ..."
The fly drove off.
“He seems a decent sort of man,” said Paul to
Élisabeth, “but he can't have much opportunity for
talking. He's making up for lost time.”
The street climbed the steep slope of the Corvigny
hills and constituted, between two rows of shops, ho-
tels and public buildings, the main artery of the
town, blocked on this day with unaccustomed traffic.
Then it dipped and skirted Vauban's ancient bas-
tions. Next came a switchback road across a plain


14
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
commanded on the right and left by the two forts
known as the Petit and the Grand Jonas.
As they drove along this winding road, which
meandered through fields of oats and wheat beneath
the leafy vault formed overhead by the close-ranked
poplars, Paul Delroze came back to the episode of
his childhood which he had promised to tell to Élisa-
beth:
“As I said, Élisabeth, the incident is connected
with a terrible tragedy, so closely connected that the
two form only one episode in my memory. The trag-
edy was much talked about at the time; and your
father, who was a friend of my father's, as you know,
heard of it through the newspapers. The reason
why he did not mention it to you was that I asked
him not to, because I wanted to be the first to tell
you of events . . . so painful to myself.”
Their hands met and clasped. He knew that every
one of his words would find a ready listener; and,
after a brief pause, he continued:
“My father was one of those men who compel the
sympathy and even the affection of all who know
them. He had a generous, enthusiastic, attractive
nature and an unfailing good-humor, took a pas-
sionate interest in any fine cause and any fine spec-
tacle, loved life and enjoyed it with a sort of pre-
cipitate haste. He enlisted in 1870 as a volunteer,
earned his lieutenant's commission on the battlefield
and found the soldier's heroic existence so well suited
to his tastes that he volunteered a second time for


THE MURDER
15
Tonkin, and a third to take part in the conquest of
Madagascar. ... On his return from this cam-
paign, in which he was promoted to captain and re-
ceived the Legion of Honor, he married. Six years
later he was a widower.”
“You were like me, Paul,” said Élisabeth. “You
hardly enjoyed the happiness of knowing your
mother.”
“No, for I was only four years old. But my
father, who felt my mother's death most cruelly, be-
stowed all his affection upon me. He made a point
of personally giving me my early education. He
left nothing undone to perfect my physical training
and to make a strong and plucky lad of me. I loved
him with all my heart. To this day I cannot think of
him without genuine emotion. ... When I was
eleven years old, I accompanied him on a journey
through France, which he had put off for years be-
cause he wanted me to take it with him at an age
when I could understand its full meaning. It was a
pilgrimage to the identical places and along the
roads where he had fought during the terrible year."
“Did your father believe in the possibility of an-
other war?”
“Yes; and he wanted to prepare me for it. 'Paul,'
he said, 'I have no doubt that one day you will be
facing the same enemy whom I fought against. From
this moment pay no attention to any fine words of
peace that you may hear, but hate that enemy with
all the hatred of which you are capable. Whatever


16
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
bloodthirsty brute, a beast of prey. He crushed us
once and he will not rest content until he has crushed
us again and, this time, for good. When that day
comes, Paul, remember all the journeys which we
have made together. Those which you will take will
mark so many triumphant stages, I am sure of it.
But never forget the names of these places, Paul;
never let your joy in victory wipe out their names
of sorrow and humiliation: Froeschwiller, Mars-la-
Tour, Saint-Privat and the rest. Mind, Paul, and
remember! And he then smiled. “But why should I
trouble? He himself, the enemy, will make it his
business to arouse hatred in the hearts of those who
have forgotten and those who have not seen. Can
he change? Not he! You'll see, Paul, you'll see.
Nothing that I can say to you will equal the terrible
reality. They are monsters.' »
Paul Delroze ceased. His wife asked him a little
timidly:
“Do you think your father was absolutely right?”
“He may have been influenced by cruel recollec-
tions that were too recent in his memory. I have
traveled a good deal in Germany, I have even lived
there, and I believe that the state of men's minds has
altered. I confess, therefore, that I sometimes find
a difficulty in understanding my father's words. And
yet . . . and yet they very often disturb me. And
then what happened afterwards is so inexplicable.”
The carriage had slackened its pace. The road


THE MURDER
17
was rising slowly towards the hills that overhang the
Liseron Valley. The sun was setting in the direc-
tion of Corvigny. They passed a diligence, laden
with trunks, and two motor cars crowded with pas-
sengers and luggage. A picket of cavalry galloped
across the fields.
“Let's get out and walk,” said Paul Delroze.
They followed the carriage on foot; and Paul con-
tinued:
“The rest of what I have to tell you, Élisabeth,
stands out in my memory in very precise details,
that seem to emerge as though from a thick fog in
which I cannot see a thing. For instance, I just
know that, after this part of our journey, we were
to go from Strasburg to the Black Forest. Why our
plans were changed I cannot tell. ... I can see
myself one morning in the station at Strasburg, step-
ping into the train for the Vosges . . . yes, for the
Vosges. ... My father kept on reading a letter
which he had just received and which seemed to
gratify him. The letter may have affected his ar-
rangements; I don't know. We lunched in the train.
There was a storm brewing, it was very hot and I
fell asleep, so that all I can remember is a little
German town where we hired two bicycles and left
our bags in the cloak-room. It's all very vague in
my mind. We rode across the country.”
“But don't you remember what the country was
like?"
“No, all I know is that suddenly my father said:


18
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“There, Paul, we're crossing the frontier: we're in
France now.' Later on-I can't say how long after
-he stopped to ask his road of a peasant, who
showed him a short-cut through the woods. But
the road and the short-cut are nothing more in
my mind than an impenetrable darkness in which my
thoughts are buried. ... Then, all of a sudden, the
darkness is rent and I see, with astonishing plain-
ness, a glade in the wood, tall trees, velvety moss
and an old chapel. And the rain falls in great, thick
drops, and my father says, 'Let's take shelter, Paul.'
Oh, how I remember the sound of his voice and how
exactly I picture the little chapel, with its walls green
with damp! We went and put our bicycles under
shelter at the back, where the roof projected a little
way beyond the choir. Just then the sound of a
conversation reached us from the inside and we heard
the grating of a door that opened round the corner.
Some one came out and said, in German, "There's no
one here. Let us make haste. At that moment we
were coming round the chapel, intending to go in by
this side door; and it so happened that my father,
who was leading the way, suddenly found himself in
the presence of the man who had spoken in German.
Both of them stepped back, the stranger apparently
very much annoyed and my father astounded at the
unexpected meeting. For a second or two, perhaps,
they stood looking at each other without moving.
I heard my father say, under his breath, 'Is it pos-
sible? The Emperor?' And I myself, surprised as I


THE MURDER
19
was at the words, had not a doubt of it, for I had
often seen the Kaiser's portrait; the man in front
of us was the German Emperor.”
“The German Emperor?” echoed Élisabeth. “You
can't mean that !”
“Yes, the Emperor in France! He quickly low-
ered his head and turned the velvet collar of his
great, flowing cape right up to the brim of his hat,
which was pulled down over his eyes. He looked to-
wards the chapel. A lady came out, followed by a
man whom I hardly saw, a sort of servant. The
lady was tall, a young woman still, dark and rather
good-looking. ... The Emperor seized her arm
with absolute violence and dragged her away, utter-
ing angry words which we were unable to hear. They
took the road by which we had come, the road lead-
ing to the frontier. The servant had hurried into
the woods and was walking on ahead. “This really
is a queer adventure,' said my father, laughing.
'What on earth is William doing here? Taking the
risk in broad daylight, too! I wonder if the chapel
possesses some artistic interest. Come and see,
Paul.' ... We went in. A dim light made its
way through a window black with dust and cobwebs.
But this dim light was enough to show us some
stunted pillars and bare walls and not a thing that
seemed to deserve the honor of an imperial visit, as
my father put it, adding, 'It's quite clear that Wil-
liam came here as a tripper, at hazard, and that he
is very cross at having his escapade discovered. I


20
T
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
expect the lady who was with him told him that he
was running no danger. That would account for his
irritation and his reproaches.'”
Paul broke off again. Élisabeth nestled up against
him timidly. Presently he continued:
"It's curious, isn't it, Élisabeth, that all these lit-
tle details, which really were comparatively unim-
portant for a boy of my age, should have been re-
corded faithfully in my mind, whereas so many other
and much more essential facts have left no trace at
all. However, I am telling you all this just as if I
still had it before my eyes and as if the words were
still sounding in any ears. And at this very moment
I can see, as plainly as I saw her at the moment when
we left the chapel, the Emperor's companion coming
back and crossing the glade with a hurried step; and
I can hear her say to my father, “May I ask a favor
of you, monsieur?' She had been running and was
out of breath, but did not wait for him to answer
and at once added, "The gentleman you saw would
like to speak to you. This was said in perfect
French without the least accent. ... My father
hesitated. But his hesitation seemed to shock her as
though it were an unspeakable offense against the
person who had sent her; and she said, in a harsher
tone, “Surely you do not mean to refuse!' 'Why
not?' said my father, with obvious impatience. 'I am
not here to receive orders.' She restrained herself
and said, 'It is not an order, it is a wish.' 'Very well,'
said my father, ‘I will agree to the interview. I will


22
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
dered? . . . My poor Paul, my poor darling!” And
in a voice of anguish she asked, "What happened
next, Paul? Did you cry out?”
“I shouted, I rushed towards him, but a hand
caught me in an irresistible grip. It was the man,
the servant, who had darted out of the woods and
seized me. I saw his knife raised above my head. I
felt a terrible blow on my shoulder. Then I also
fell.”


CHAPTER II
THE LOCKED ROOM
The carriage stood waiting for them a little way
ahead. They had sat down by the roadside on reach-
ing the upland at the top of the ascent. The green,
undulating valley of the Liseron opened up before
them, with its little winding river escorted by two
white roads which followed its every turn. Behind
them, under the setting sun, some three hundred
feet below, lay the clustering mass of Corvigny.
Two miles in front of them rose the turrets of Orne-
quin and the ruins of the old castle.
Terrified by Paul's story, Élisabeth was silent for
a time. Then she said:
"Oh, Paul, how terrible it all is! Were you very
badly hurt?"
“I can remember nothing until the day when I
woke up in a room which I did not know and saw a
nun and an old lady, a cousin of my father's, who
were nursing me. It was the best room of an inn
somewhere between Belfort and the frontier. Twelve
days before, at a very early hour in the morning, the
innkeeper had found two bodies, all covered with
blood, which had been laid there during the night.
23


24
TE
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
One of the bodies was quite cold. It was my poor
father's. I was still breathing, but very slightly. ...
I had a long convalescence, interrupted by relapses
and fits of delirium, in which I tried to make my
escape. My old cousin, the only relation I had left,
showed me the most wonderful and devoted kindness.
Two months later she took me home with her. I was
very nearly cured of my wound, but so greatly af-
fected by my father's death and by the frightful
circumstances surrounding it that it was several
years before I recovered my health completely. As
to the tragedy itself. ..."
“Well?” asked Élisabeth, throwing her arm round
her husband's neck, with an eager movement of pro-
tection.
“Well, they never succeeded in fathoming the mys-
tery. And yet the police conducted their investiga-
tions zealously and scrupulously, trying to verify the
only information which they were able to employ,
that which I gave them. All their efforts failed.
You know, my information was very vague. Apart
from what had happened in the glade and in front
of the chapel, I knew nothing. I could not tell them
where to find the chapel, nor where to look for it,
nor in what part of the country the tragedy had
occurred.”
“But still you had taken a journey, you and your
father, to reach that part of the country; and it
seems to me that, by tracing your road back to your
departure from Strasburg. ..."


THE LOCKED ROOM
25
“Well, of course they did their best to fcllow up
that track; and the French police, not content with
calling in the aid of the German police, sent their
shrewdest detectives to the spot. But this is ex-
actly what afterwards, when I was of an age to think
out things, struck me as so strange: not a single
trace was found of our stay at Strasburg. You
quite understand? Not a trace of any kind. Now,
if there was one thing of which I was absolutely cer-
tain, it was that we had spent at least two days and
nights at Strasburg. The magistrate who had the
case in hand, looking upon me as a child and one who
had been badly knocked about and upset, came to the
conclusion that my memory must be at fault. But
I knew that this was not so; I knew it then and I
know it still.”
“What then, Paul?”
“Well, I cannot help seeing a connection between
the total elimination of undeniable facts-facts eas-
ily checked or reconstructed, such as the visit of a
Frenchman and his son to Strasburg, their railway
journey, the leaving of their luggage in the cloak-
room of a town in Alsace, the hiring of a
couple of bicycles--and this main fact, that the
Emperor was directly, yes, directly mixed up in the
business.”
“But this connection must have been as obvious
to the magistrate's mind as to yours, Paul.”
“No doubt; but neither the examining magistrate
nor any of his colleagues and the other officials who


26
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
took my evidence was willing to admit the Emperor's
presence in Alsace on that day.”
“Why not?”
“Because the German newspapers stated that he
was in Frankfort at that very hour.”
"In Frankfort?”
“Of course, he is stated to be wherever he com-
mands and never at a place where he does not wish
his presence known. At any rate, on this point also
I was accused of being in error and the inquiry was
thwarted by an assemblage of obstacles, impossibili-
ties, lies and alibis which, to my mind, revealed the
continuous and all-powerful action of an unlimited
authority. There is no other explanation. Just
think: how can two French subjects put up at a
Strasburg hotel without having their names entered
in the visitors' book? Well, whether because the
book was destroyed or a page torn out, no record
whatever of the names was found. So there was one
proof, one clue gone. As for the hotel proprietor
and waiters, the railway booking clerks and porters,
the man who owned the bicycles: these were so many
subordinates, so many accomplices, all of whom re-
ceived orders to be silent; and not one of them dis-
obeyed.”
“But afterwards, Paul, you must have made your
own search?”
"I should think I did! Four times since I came
of age I have been over the whole frontier from
Switzerland to Luxemburg, from Belfort to Longwy,


THE LOCKED ROOM
27
:
questioning the inhabitants, studying the country. I
have spent hours and hours in cudgeling my brains
in the vain hope of extracting the slightest recollec-
tion that would have given me a gleam of light. But
all without result. There was not one fresh glimmer
amid all that darkness. Only three pictures showed
through the dense fog of the past, pictures of the
place and the things which witnessed the crime: the
trees in the glade, the old chapel and the path leading
through the woods. And then there was the figure
of the Emperor and ... the figure of the woman
who killed my father.”
Paul had lowered his voice. His face was distorted
with grief and loathing.
“As for her,” he went on, "if I live to be a hun-
dred, I shall see her before my eyes as something
standing out in all its details under the full light of
day. The shape of her lips, the expression of her
eyes, the color of her hair, the special character of
her walk, the rhythm of her movements, the outline
of her body: all this is recorded within myself, not
as a vision which I summon up at will, but as some-
thing that forms part of my very being. It is as
though, during my delirium, all the mysterious pow-
ers of my brain had collaborated to assimilate en-
tirely those hateful memories. There was a time
when all this was a morbid obsession: nowadays, I
suffer only at certain hours, when the night is com-
ing in and I am alone. My father was murdered;
and the woman who murdered him is alive, unpun-


28
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
ished, happy, rich, honored, pursuing her work of
hatred and destruction."
“Would you know her again if you saw her, Paul?”
“Would I know her again! I should know her
among a thousand. Even if she were disfigured by
age, I should discover in the wrinkles of the old
woman that she had become the face of the younger
woman who stabbed my father to death on that Sep-
tember evening. Know her again! Why, I noticed
the very shade of the dress she wore! It seems in-
credible, but there it is. A gray dress, with a black
lace scarf over the shoulders; and here, in the bodice,
by way of a brooch, a heavy cameo, set in a gold
snake with ruby eyes. You see, Élisabeth, I have not
forgotten and I never shall forget.”
He ceased. Élisabeth was crying. The past
which her husband had revealed to her was filling her
with the same sense of horror and bitterness. He
drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead.
“You are right not to forget,” she said. “The
murder will be punished because it has to be pun-
ished. But you must not let your life be subject to
these memories of hatred. There are two of us now
and we love each other. Let us look towards the
future.”
The Château d'Ornequin is a handsome sixteenth
century building of simple design, with four peaked
turrets, tall windows with denticulated pinnacles and
a light balustrade projecting above the first story.


THE LOCKED ROOM
29
The esplanade is formed by well-kept lawns which
surround the courtyard and lead on the right and
left to gardens, woods and orchards. One side of
these lawns ends in a broad terrace overlooking the
valley of the Liseron. On this terrace, in a line
with the house, stand the majestic ruins of a four-
square castle-keep.
The whole wears a very stately air. The estate
surrounded by farms and fields, demands active and
careful working for its maintenance. It is one of
the largest in the department.
Seventeen years before, at the sale held upon the
death of the last Baron d'Ornequin, Élisabeth's fa-
ther, the Comte d'Andeville, bought it at his wife's
desire. He had been married for five years and had
resigned his commission in the cavalry in order to
devote himself entirely to the woman he loved. A
chance journey brought them to Ornequin just as
the sale, which had hardly been advertised in the local
press, was about to be held. Hermine d’Andeville
fell in love with the house and the domain; and
the Count, who was looking for an estate whose man-
agement would occupy his spare time effected the
purchase through his lawyer by private treaty.
During the winter that followed, he directed from
Paris the work of restoration which was necessitated
by the state of disrepair in which the former owner
had left the house. M. d’Andeville wished it to be
not only comfortable but also elegant; and, little by
little, he sent down all the tapestries, pictures, ob-


30
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
jects of art and knicknacks that adorned his house
in Paris.
They were not able to take up their residence until
August. They then spent a few delightful weeks
with their dear Élisabeth, at this time four years old,
and their son, Bernard, a lusty boy to whom the
Countess had given birth that same year. Hermine
d'Andeville was devoted to her children and never
went beyond the confines of the park. The Count
looked after his farms and shot over his coverts, ac-
companied by Jérôme, his gamekeeper, a worthy Al-
satian, who had been in the late owner's service and
who knew every yard of the estate.
At the end of October, the Countess took cold; the
illness that followed was pretty serious; and the
Comte d'Andeville decided to take her and the chil-
dren to the south. A fortnight later she had a re-
lapse; and in three days she was dead.
The Count experienced the despair which makes a
man feel that life is over and that, whatever happens,
he will never again know the sense of joy nor even an
alleviation of any sort. He lived not so much for
the sake of his children as to cherish within himself
the cult of her whom he had lost and to perpetuate
a memory which now became the sole reason of his
existence.
He was unable to return to the Château d'Orne-
quin, where he had known too perfect a happiness;
on the other hand, he would not have strangers live
there; and he ordered Jérôme to keep the doors and


THE LOCKED ROOM
31
shutters closed and to lock up the Countess' boudoir
and bedroom in such a way that no one could ever
enter. Jérôme was also to let the farms and to col-
lect the tenants' rents.
This break with the past was not enough to satisfy
the Count. It seems strange in a man who existed
only for the sake of his wife's memory, but every-
thing that reminded him of her-familiar objects,
domestic surroundings, places and landscapes—be-
came a torture to him; and his very children filled
him with a sense of discomfort which he was unable
to overcome. He had an elder sister, a widow, liv-
ing in the country, at Chaumont. He placed his
daughter Élisabeth and his son Bernard in her charge
and went abroad.
Aunt Aline was the most devoted and unselfish of
women; and under her care Élisabeth enjoyed a
grave, studious and affectionate childhood in which
her heart developed together with her mind and her
character. She received the education almost of a
boy, together with a strong moral discipline. At the
age of twenty, she had grown into a tall, capable,
fearless girl, whose face, inclined by nature to be
melancholy, sometimes lit up with the fondest and
most innocent of smiles. It was one of those faces
which reveal beforehand the pangs and raptures held
in store by fate. The tears were never far from her
eyes, which seemed as though troubled by the spec-
tacle of life. Her hair, with its bright curls, lent a
certain gaiety to her appearance.


32
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
At each visit that the Comte d'Andeville paid his
daughter between his wanderings he fell more and
more under her charm. He took her one winter to
Spain and the next to Italy. It was in this way that
she became acquainted with Paul Delroze at Rome
and met him again at Naples and Syracuse, from
which town Paul accompanied the d’Andevilles on a
long excursion through Sicily. The intimacy thus
formed attached the two young people by a bond
of which they did not realize the full strength till
the time came for parting.
Like Élisabeth, Paul had been brought up in the
country and, again like her, by a fond kinswoman
who strove, by dint of loving care, to make him for-
get the tragedy of his childhood. Though oblivion
failed to come, at any rate she succeeded in continu-
ing his father's work and in making of Paul a manly
and industrious lad, interested in books, life and the
doings of mankind. He went to school and, after
performing his military service, spent two years in
Germany, studying some of his favorite industrial
and mechanical subjects on the spot.
Tall and well set up, with his black hair flung
back from his rather thin face, with its determined
chin, he made an impression of strength and energy.
His meeting with Élisabeth revealed to him a world
of ideas and emotions which he had hitherto dis-
dained. For him as for her it was a sort of intoxi-
cation mingled with amazement. Love created in
them two new souls, light and free as air, whose ready


THE LOCKED ROOM
33
enthusiasm and expansiveness formed a sharp con-
trast with the habits enforced upon them by the
strict tendency of their lives. On his return to
France he asked for Élisabeth's hand in marriage and
obtained her consent.
On the day of the marriage contract, three days
before the wedding, the Comte d'Andeville announced
that he would add the Château d'Ornequin to Élisa-
beth's dowry. The young couple decided that they
would live there and that Paul should look about in
the valleys of the neighboring manufacturing dis-
trict for some works which he could buy and manage.
They were married on Thursday, the 30th of July,
at Chaumont. It was a quiet wedding, because of
the rumors of war, though the Comte d'Andeville, on
the strength of information to which he attached
great credit, declared that no war would take place.
At the breakfast in which the two families took part,
Paul made the acquaintance of Bernard d’Andeville,
Élisabeth's brother, a schoolboy of barely seventeen,
whose holidays had just begun. Paul took to him,
because of his frank bearing and high spirits; and it ·
was arranged that Bernard should join them in a
few days at Ornequin. At one o'clock Élisabeth and
Paul left Chaumont by train. They were going
hand-in-hand to the château where the first years of
their marriage were to be spent and perhaps all that
happy and peaceful future which opens up before the
dazzling eyes of lovers.


34
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
It was half-past six o'clock when they saw Jérôme's
wife standing at the foot of the steps. Rosalie was
a stout, motherly body with ruddy, mottled cheeks
and a cheerful face.
Before dining, they took a hurried turn in the gar-
den and went over the house. Élisabeth could not
contain her emotion. Though there were no memo-
ries to excite her, she seemed, nevertheless, to redis-
cover something of the mother whom she had known
for such a little while, whose features she could not
remember and who had here spent the last happy
days of her life. For her, the shade of the dead
woman still trod those garden paths. The great,
green lawns exhaled a special fragrance. The leaves
on the trees rustled in the wind with a whisper which
she seemed already to have heard in that same spot
and at the same hour of the day, with her mother
listening beside her.
“You seem depressed, Élisabeth,” said Paul.
“Not depressed, but unsettled. I feel as though
my mother were welcoming us to this place where
she thought she was to live and where we have come
with the same intention. And I somehow feel anx-
ious. It is as though I were a stranger, an intruder,
disturbing the rest and peace of the house. Only
think! My mother has been here all alone for such
a time! My father would never come here; and I
was telling myself that we have no right to come
here either, with our indifference for everything that
is not ourselves.”


THE LOCKED ROOM
35
Paul smiled:
“Élisabeth, my darling, you are simply feeling
that impression of uneasiness which one always feels
on arriving at a new place in the evening."
“I don't know,” she said. “I daresay you are
right. ... But I can't shake off the uneasiness;
and that is so unlike me. Do you believe in pre-
sentiments, Paul?”
“No, do you?”
“No, I don't either,” she said, laughing and giving
him her lips.
They were surprised to find that the rooms of the
house looked as if they had been constantly inhabited.
By the Count's orders, everything had remained as
it was in the far-off days of Hermine d’Andeville.
The knickknacks were there, in the same places, and
every piece of embroidery, every square of lace, every
miniature, all the handsome eighteenth century
chairs, all the Flemish tapestry, all the furniture
which the Count had collected in the old days to add
to the beauty of his house. They were thus enter-
ing from the first into a charming and home-like
setting.
After dinner they returned to the gardens, where
they strolled to and fro in silence, with their arms
entwined round each other's waists. From the ter-
race they looked down upon the dark valley, with a
few lights gleaming here and there. The old castle-
keep raised its massive ruins against a pale sky, in
which a remnant of vague light still lingered.


36
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Paul,” said Élisabeth, in a low voice, "did you
notice, as we went over the house, a door closed with
a great padlock ?”
“In the middle of the chief corridor, near your
bedroom, you mean?”.
“Yes. That was my poor mother's boudoir. My
father insisted that it should be locked, as well as the
bedroom leading out of it; and Jérôme put a pad-
lock on the door and sent him the key. No one has
set foot in it since. It is just as my mother left it.
All her own things—her unfinished work, her books-
are there. And on the wall facing the door, between
the two windows that have always been kept shut, is
her portrait, which my father had ordered a year
before of a great painter of his acquaintance, a full-
length portrait which, I understand, is the very image
of her. Her prie-Dieu is beside it. This morning my
father gave me the key of the boudoir and I promised
him that I would kneel down on the prie-Dieu and say
a prayer before the portrait of the mother whom I
hardly knew and whose features I cannot imagine,
for I never even had a photograph of her.”
“Really? How was that?”
“You see, my father loved my mother so much
that, in obedience to a feeling which he himself was
unable to explain, he wished to be alone in his recol-
lection of her. He wanted his memories to be hid-
den deep down in himself, so that nothing would re-
mind him of her except his own will and his grief.
He almost begged my pardon for it this morning,


THE LOCKED ROOM
37
said that perhaps he had done me a wrong; and that
is why he wants us to go together, Paul, on this first
evening, and pray before the picture of my poor dead
mother.”
“Let us go now, Élisabeth.”
Her hand trembled in her husband's hand as they
climbed the stairs to the first floor. Lamps had been
lighted all along the passage. They stopped in front
of a tall, wide door surmounted with gilded carv-
ings.
“Unfasten the lock, Paul,” said Élisabeth.
Her voice shook as she spoke. She handed him
the key. He removed the padlock and seized the
door-handle. But Élisazeth suddenly gripped her
husband's arm:
"One moment, Paul, one moment! I feel so up-
set. This is the first time that I shall look on my
mother's face . . . and you, my dearest, are beside
me. ... I feel as if I were becoming a little girl
again.”
“Yes,” he said, pressing her hand passionately, “a
little girl and a grown woman in one."
Comforted by the clasp of his hand, she released
hers and whispered:
“We will go in now, Paul darling."
He opened the door and returned to the passage
to take a lamp from a bracket on the wall and place
it on the table. Meanwhile, Élisabeth had walked
across the room and was standing in front of the
picture. Her mother's face was in the shadow and


38
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
she altered the position of the lamp so as to throw
the full light upon it.
“How beautiful she is, Paul!"
He went up to the picture and raised his head.
Élisabeth sank to her knees on the prie-Dieu. But
presently, hearing Paul turn round, she looked up at
him and was stupefied by what she saw. He was
standing motionless, livid in the face, his eyes wide
open, as though gazing at the most frightful vision.
“Paul,” she cried, “what's the matter?”
He began to make for the door, stepping back-
wards, unable to take his eyes from the portrait of
Hermine d’Andeville. He was staggering like a
drunken man; and his arms beat the air around him.
“That ... that ...” he stammered, hoarsely.
“Paul,” Élisabeth entreated, “what is it? What
are you trying to say?"
“That ... that is the woman who killed my fa-
ther!”


CHAPTER III
THE CALL TO ARMS
The hideous accusation was followed by an awful
silence. Élisabeth was now standing in front of her
husband, striving to understand his words, which had
not yet acquired their real meaning for her, but which
hurt her as though she had been stabbed to the heart.
She moved towards him and, with her eyes in his,
spoke in a voice so low that he could hardly hear:
"You surely can't mean what you said, Paul? The
thing is too monstrous !”
He replied in the same tone:
“Yes, it is a monstrous thing. I don't believe it
myself yet. I refuse to believe it.”
“Then it's a mistake, isn't it?—Confess it, you've
made a mistake.
She implored him with all the distress that filled
her being, as though she were hoping to make him
yield. He fixed his eyes again on the accursed por-
trait, over his wife's shoulder, and shivered from head
to foot:
“Oh, it is she!” he declared, clenching his fists.
“It is she I recognize her-it is the woman who
killed my- "


40
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
A shock of protest ran through her body; and,
beating her breast, she cried:
“My mother! My mother a murderess! My
mother, whom my father used to worship and went on
worshiping! My mother, who used to hold me on
her knee and kiss me! I have forgotten everything
about her except that, her kisses and her caresses!
And you tell me that she is a murderess !"
“It is true.”
“Oh, Paul, you must not say anything so horri-
ble! How can you be positive, such a long time
after? You were only a child; and you saw
so little of the woman ... hardly a few min-
utes ..."
“I saw more of her than it seems humanly possible
to see," exclaimed Paul, loudly. “From the moment
of the murder her image never left my sight. I have
tried to shake it off at times, as one tries to shake
off a nightmare; but I could not. And the image is
there, hanging on the wall. As sure as I live, it is
there; I know it as I should know your image after
twenty years. It is she . . . why, look, on her breast,
that brooch set in a gold snake! ... a cameo, as I
told you, and the snake's eyes ... two rubies! ...
and the black lace scarf around the shoulders! It's
she, I tell you, it's the woman I saw!"
A growing rage excited him to frenzy; and he
shook his fist at the portrait of Hermine d’Ande
ville.
"Hush!” cried Élisabeth, under the torment of his


THE CALL TO ARMS
41
words. “Hold your tongue! I won't allow you
to ..."
She tried to put her hand on his mouth to compel
him to silence. But Paul made a movement of repul-
sion, as though he were shrinking from his wife's
touch; and the movement was so abrupt and so in-
stinctive that she fell to the ground sobbing while
he, incensed, exasperated by his sorrow and hatred,
impelled by a sort of terrified hallucination that
drove him back to the door, shouted:
"Look at her! Look at her wicked mouth, her
pitiless eyes! She is thinking of the murder! ... I
see her, I see her! . . . She goes up to my father ...
she leads him away . . . she raises her arm ...
and she kills him! ... Oh, the wretched, monstrous
woman!...
He rushed from the room.
Paul spent the night in the park, running like a
madman wherever the dark paths led him, or flinging
himself, when tired out, on the grass and weeping,
weeping endlessly.
Paul Delroze had known no suffering save from
his memory of the murder, a chastened suffering
which, nevertheless, at certain periods became acute
until it smarted like a fresh wound. This time the
pain was so great and so unexpected that, notwith-
standing his usual self-mastery and his well-balanced
mind, he utterly lost his head. His thoughts, his ac-
tions, his attitudes, the words which he yelled into


42
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
the darkness were those of a man who has parted
with his self-control.
One thought and one alone kept returning to his
seething brain, in which his ideas and impressions
whirled like leaves in the wind; one terrible thought:
“I know the woman who killed my father; and that
woman's daughter is the woman whom I love."
Did he still love her? No doubt, he was desper-
ately mourning a happiness which he knew to be
shattered; but did he still love Élisabeth? Could be
love Hermine d’Andeville's daughter?
When he went indoors at daybreak and passed
Élisabeth's room, his heart beat no faster than be-
fore. His hatred of the murderess destroyed all else
that might stir within him: love, affection, longing,
or even the merest human pity.
The torpor into which he sank for a few hours
relaxed his nerves a little, but did not change his
mental attitude. Perhaps, on the contrary, and
without even thinking about it, he was still more un-
willing than before to meet Élisabeth. And yet he
wanted to know, to ascertain, to gather all the es-
sential particulars and to make quite certain before
taking the resolve that would decide the great trag-
edy of his life in one way or another.
Above all, he must question Jérôme and his wife,
whose evidence was of no small value, owing to the
fact that they had known the Comtesse d’Andeville.
Certain matters concerning the dates, for instance,
might be cleared up forthwith.


THE CALL TO ARMS
43
He found them in their lodge, both of them greatly
excited, Jérôme with a newspaper in his hand and
Rosalie making gestures of dismay.
"It's settled, sir,” cried Jérôme. “You can be sure
of it: it's coming!"
“What?” asked Paul.
“Mobilization, sir, the call to arms. You'll see it
does. I saw some gendarmes, friends of mine, and
they told me. The posters are ready.”
Paul remarked, absent-mindedly:
“The posters are always ready."
“Yes, but they're going to stick them up at once,
you'll see, sir. Just look at the paper. Those swine
--you'll forgive me, sir, but it's the only word for
them—those swine want war. Austria would be will-
ing to negotiate, but in the meantime the others have
been mobilizing for several days. Proof is, they won't
let you cross into their country any more. And
worse: yesterday they destroyed a French railway
station, not far from here, and pulled up the rails.
Read it for yourself, sir!"
Paul skimmed through the stop-press telegrams,
but, though he saw that they were serious, war
seemed to him such an unlikely thing that he did not
pay much attention to them.
"It'll be settled all right,” he said. “That's just
their way of talking, with their hand on the sword-
hilt; but I can't believe ..."
“You're wrong, sir,” Rosalie muttered.
He no longer listened, thinking only of the trag-


44
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
edy of his fate and casting about for the best means
of obtaining the necessary replies from Jérôme. But
he was not able to contain himself any longer and
he broached the subject frankly:
"I daresay you know, Jérôme, that madame and I
have been to the Comtesse d'Andeville's room.”
The statement produced an extraordinary effect
upon the keeper and his wife, as though it had been
a sacrilege to enter that room so long kept locked,
the mistress' room, as they called it among them-
selves.
“You don't mean that, sir!" Rosalie blurted out.
And Jérôme added:
“No, of course not, for I sent the only key of the
padlock, a safety-key it was, to Monsieur le Comte.”
"He gave it us yesterday morning,” said Paul.
And, without troubling further about their amaze-
ment, he proceeded straightaway to put his ques-
tions:
“There is a portrait of the Comtesse d’Andeville
between the two windows. When was it hung there?”
Jérôme did not reply at once. He thought for a
moment, looked at his wife, and then said:
“Why, that's easily answered. It was when Mon-
sieur le Comte sent all his furniture to the
house . . . before they moved in.”
“When was that?”
Paul's agony was unendurable during the three or
four seconds before the reply.
“Well?” he asked.


THE CALL TO ARMS 45
When the reply came at last it was decisive:
“Well, it was in the spring of 1898.”
“Eighteen hundred and ninety-eight!"
Paul repeated the words in a dull voice: 1898 was
the year of his father's murder!
Without stopping to reflect, with the coolness of
an examining magistrate who does not swerve from
the line which he has laid out, he asked:
“So the Comte and Comtesse d'Andeville ar-
rived ..."
“Monsieur le Comte and Madame le Comtesse ar-
rived at the castle on the 28th of August, 1898, and
left for the south on the 24th of October.”
Paul now knew the truth, for his father was mur-
dered on the 19th of September. And all the cir-
cumstances which depended on that truth, which ex-
plained it in its main details or which proceeded from
it at once appeared to him. He remembered that his
father was on friendly terms with the Comte d'Ande-
ville. He said to himself that his father, in the course
of his journey in Alsace, must have learnt that his
friend d’Andeville was living in Lorraine and must
have contemplated paying him a surprise visit. He
reckoned up the distance between Ornequin and
Strasburg, a distance which corresponded with the
time spent in the train. And he asked:
“How far is this from the frontier?”
“Three miles and three-quarters, sir."
“On the other side, at no great distance, there's a
little German town, is there not?”


THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Yes, sir, Èbrecourt.”
“Is there a short-cut to the frontier?”
“Yes, sir, for about half-way: a path at the other
end of the park.”
“Through the woods?”
“Through Monsieur le Comte's woods."
“And in those woods ..."
To acquire total, absolute certainty, that certainty
which comes not from an interpretation of the facts
but from the facts themselves, which would stand out
visible and palpable, all that he had to do was to
put the last question: in those woods was not there
a little chapel in the middle of a glade? Paul Del-
roze did not put the question. Perhaps he thought it
too precise, perhaps he feared lest it should
induce the gamekeeper to entertain thoughts and
comparisons which the nature of the conversation
was already sufficient to warrant. He merely
asked:
“Was the Comtesse d’Andeville away at all dur-
ing the six weeks which she spent at Ornequin? For
two or three days, I mean?”
"No, sir, Madame le Comtesse never left the
grounds."
“She kept to the park?”
“Yes, sir. Monsieur le Comte used to drive al-
most every afternoon to Corvigny or in the valley,
but Madame la Comtesse never went beyond the park
and the woods."
Paul knew what he wanted to know. Not caring


48
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
with her, as for a fault, inasmuch as she was her
mother's daughter.
For two hours after lunch he remained closeted
· with the portrait in the boudoir: a tragic interview
which he wished to have with the murderess, so as to
fill his eyes with her accursed image and give fresh
strength to his memories. He examined every slight-
est detail. He studied the cameo, the swan with
unfurled wings which it represented, the chasing of
the gold snake that formed the setting, the position
of the rubies and also the draping of the lace around
the shoulders, not to speak of the shape of the mouth
and the color of the hair and the outline of the face.
It was undoubtedly the woman whom he had seen
that September evening. A corner of the picture
bore the painter's signature; and underneath, on the
frame, was a scroll with the inscription:
Portrait of the Comtesse H.
No doubt the portrait had been exhibited with that
discreet reference to the Comtesse Hermine.
“Now, then,” said Paul. “A few minutes more,
and the whole past will come to life again. I have
found the criminal; I have now only to find the place
of the crime. If the chapel is there, in the woods,
the truth will be complete."
He went for the truth resolutely. He feared it
less now, because it could no longer escape his grasp.
And yet how his heart beat, with great, painful


THE CALL TO ARMS
49
throbs, and how he loathed the idea of taking the
road leading to that other road along which his
father had passed sixteen years before!
A vague movement of Jérôme's hand had told him
which way to go. He crossed the park in the di-
rection of the frontier, bearing to his left and pass-
ing a lodge. At the entrance to the woods was a
long avenue of fir-trees down which he went. Four
hundred yards farther it branched into three nar-
row avenues. Two of these proved to end in impene-
trable thickets. The third led to the top of a mound,
from which he descended, still keeping to his left, by
another avenue of fir-trees.
In selecting this road, Paul realized that it was
just this avenue of firs the appearance of which
aroused in him, through some untold resemblance of
shape and arrangement, memories clear enough to
guide his steps. It ran straight ahead for some time
and then took a sudden turn into a cluster of tall
beeches whose leafy tops met overhead. Then the
road sloped upwards; and, at the end of the dark
tunnel through which he was walking, Paul per-
ceived the glare of light that points to an open
space.
The anguish of it all made his knees give way be-
neath him; and he had to make an effort to proceed.
Was it the glade in which his father had received
his death-blow? The more that luminous space be-
came revealed to his eyes, the more did he feel pene-
trated with a profound conviction. As in the room


50
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
with the portrait, the past was recovering the very
aspect of the truth in and before him.
It was the same glade, surrounded by a ring of
trees that presented the same picture and covered
with a carpet of grass and moss which the same paths
divided as of old. The same glimpse of sky was
above him, outlined by the capricious masses of fo-
liage. And there, on his left, guarded by two yew-
trees which Paul recognized, was the chapel.
The chapel! The little old massive chapel, whose
lines had etched themselves like furrows into his
brain! Trees grow, become taller, alter their form.
The appearance of a glade is liable to change. Its
paths will sometimes interlock in a different fashion.
A man's memory can play him a trick. But a build-
ing of granite and cement is immutable. It takes
centuries to give it the green-gray color that is
the mark which time sets upon the stone; and this
bloom of age never alters. The chapel that stood
there, displaying a grimy-paned rose-window in its
east front, was undoubtedly that from which the
German Emperor had stepped, followed by the
woman who, ten minutes later, committed the murder.
Paul walked to the door. He wanted to revisit
the place in which his father had spoken to him for
the last time. It was a moment of tense emotion.
The same little roof which had sheltered their bicycles
projected at the back; and the door was the same,
with its great rusty clamps and bars.
He stood on the single step that led to it, raised


THE CALL TO ARMS
51
the latch and pushed the door. But as he was about
to enter, two men, hidden in the shadow on either
side, sprang at him.
One of them aimed a revolver full in his face. By
some miracle, Paul noticed the gleaming barrel of the
weapon just in time to stoop before the bullet could
strike him. A second shot rang out, but he had
hustled the man and now snatched the revolver from
his hand, while his other aggressor threatened him
with a dagger. He stepped backwards out of the
chapel, with outstretched arm, and twice pulled the
trigger. Each time there was a click but no shot.
The mere fact, however, of his firing at the two
scoundrels terrified them, and they turned tail and
made off as fast as they could.
Bewildered by the suddenness of the attack, Paul
stood for a second irresolute. Then he fired at the
fugitives again, but to no purpose. The revolver,
which was obviously loaded in only two chambers,
clicked but did not go off.
He then started running after his assailants; and
he remembered that long ago the Emperor and his
companion, on leaving the chapel, had taken the
same direction, which was evidently that of the
frontier.
Almost at the same moment the men, seeing them-
selves pursued, plunged into the wood and slipped
in among the trees; but Paul, who was swifter of
foot, rapidly gained ground on them, all the more
so as he had gone round a hollow filled with


52
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
bracken and brambles into which the others had ven-
tured.
Suddenly one of them gave a shrill whistle, prob-
ably a warning to some accomplice. Soon after
they disappeared behind a line of extremely dense
bushes. When he had passed through these, Paul
saw at a distance of sixty yards before him a high
wall which seemed to shut in the woods on every
side. The men were half-way to it; and he perceived
that they were making straight for a part of the wall
containing a small door.
Paul put on a spurt so as to reach the door before
they had time to open it. The bare ground enabled
him to increase his speed, whereas the men, who were
obviously tired, had reduced theirs.
"I've got them, the ruffians !” he murmured. “I
shall at last know ..."
A second whistle sounded, followed by a guttural
shout. He was now within twenty yards of them
and could hear them speak.
“I've got them, I've got them !” he repeated, with
fierce delight.
And he made up his mind to strike one of them
in the face with the barrel of his revolver and to
spring at the other's throat.
But, before they even reached the wall, the door
was pushed open from the outside and a third man
appeared and let them through.
Paul flung away the revolver; and his impetus was
such and the effort which he made so great that


: THE CALL TO ARMS 53
he managed to seize the door and draw it to him.
The door gave way. And what he then saw scared
him to such a degree that he started backwards and
did not even dream of defending himself against this
fresh attack. The third man-Oh, hideous night-
mare! Could it moreover be anything but a night-
mare?—the third ruffian was raising a knife against
him; and Paul knew his face ... it was a face re-
sembling the one which he had seen before, a man's
face and not a woman's, but the same sort of face,
undoubtedly the same sort: a face marked by fif-
teen additional years and by an even harder and
more wicked expression, but the same sort of face,
the same sort!
And the man stabbed Paul, even as the woman of
fifteen years ago, even as she who was since dead
had stabbed Paul's father.
Paul Delroze staggered, but rather as the result
of the nervous shock caused by the sudden appear-
ance of this ghost of the past; for the blade of the
dagger, striking the button on the shoulder-strap of
his shooting-jacket, broke into splinters. Dazed
and misty-eyed, he heard the sound of the door clos-
ing, the grating of the key in the lock and lastly the
hum of a motor car starting on the other side of the
wall. When Paul recovered from his torpor there
was nothing left for him to do. The man and his
two confederates were out of reach.
Besides, for the moment he was utterly absorbed


54
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
in the mystery of the likeness between the figure from
the past and that which he had just seen. He could
think of but one thing:
“The Comtesse d’Andeville is dead; and here she
is revived under the aspect of a man whose face is
the very face which she 'would have to-day. Is it
the face of some relation, of a brother of whom I
never heard, a twin perhaps?”
And he reflected:
“After all, am I not mistaken? Am I not the
victim of an hallucination, which would be only nat-
ural in the crisis through which I am passing? How
do I know for certain that there is any connection
between the present and the past? I must have a
proof,”
The proof was ready to his hand; and it was so
strong that Paul was not able to doubt for much
longer. He caught sight of the remains of the dag-
ger in the grass and picked up the handle. On it
four letters were engraved as with a red-hot iron:
an H, an E, an R and an M.
H, E, R, M; the first four letters of Hermine! ...
At this moment, while he was staring at the letters
which were to him so full of meaning, at this mo-
ment, a moment which Paul was never to forget, the
bell of a church nearby began to ring in the most
unusual manner: a regular, montononous, uninter-
rupted ringing, which sounded at once brisk and
unspeakably sinister.
“The tocsin,” he muttered to himself, without at-


THE CALL TO ARMS 55
taching the full sense to the word. And he added:
“A fire somewhere, I expect.”
A few minutes later Paul had succeeded in climbing
over the wall by means of the projecting branches
of a tree. He found a further stretch of woods,
crossed by a forest road. He followed the tracks
of a motor car along this road and reached the fron-
tier within an hour.
A squad of German constabulary were sitting
round the foot of the frontier post; and he saw a
white road with Uhlans trotting along it. At the end
of it was a cluster of red roofs and gardens. Was
this the little town where his father and he had hired
their bicycles that day, the little town of Èbre-
court?
The melancholy bell never ceased. He noticed
that the sound came from France; also that another
bell was ringing somewhere, likewise in France, and
a third from the direction of the Liseron; and all
three on the same hurried note, as though sending
forth a wild appeal around them.
He repeated, anxiously:
“The tocsin! ... The alarm! ... And it's
being passed on from church to church. . . . Can
it mean that ..."
But he drove away the terrifying thought. No,
his ears were misleading him; or else it was the echo
of a single bell thrown back in the hollow valleys
and ringing over the plains.
Meanwhile he was gazing at the white road which


56
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
issued from the little German town, and he observed
that a constant stream of horsemen was arriving
there and spreading across-country. Also a detach-
ment of French dragoons appeared on the ridge of a
hill. The officer in command scanned the horizon
through his field-glasses and then trotted off with
his men.
Thereupon, unable to go any farther, Paul walked
back to the wall which he had climbed and found that
the wall was prolonged around the whole of the es-
tate, including the woods and the park. He learnt
besides from an old peasant that it was built some
twelve years ago, which explained why Paul had never
found the chapel in the course of his explorations
along the frontier. Once only, he now remembered,
some one had told him of a chapel; but it was one
situated inside a private estate; and his suspicions
had not been aroused.
While thus following the road that skirted the
property, he came nearer to the village of Ornequin,
whose church suddenly rose at the end of a clearing
in the wood. The bell, which he had not heard for
the last moment or two, now rang out again with
great distinctness. It was the bell of Ornequin. It
was frail, shrill, poignant as a lament and more
solemn than a passing-bell, for all its hurry and
lightness.
Paul walked towards the sound. A charming vil-
lage, all aflower with geraniums and Marguerites,
stood gathered about its church. Silent groups were


THE CALL TO ARMS
57
studying a white notice posted on the Mayor's office.
Paul stepped forward and read the heading:
“Mobilization Order.”
At any other period of his life these words would
have struck him with all their gloomy and terrific
meaning. But the crisis through which he was pass-
ing was too powerful to allow room for any great
emotion within him. He scarcely even contemplated
the unavoidable, consequences of the proclamation.
Very well, the country was mobilizing: the mobiliza-
tion would begin at midnight. ... Very well, every
one must go; he would go. . . . And this assumed
in his mind the form of so imperative an act, the
proportions of a duty which so completely exceeded
every minor obligation and every petty individual
need that he felt, on the contrary, a sort of relief at
thus receiving from the outside the order that dic-
tated his conduct. There was no hesitation possible.
His duty lay before him: he must go.
Go? In that case why not go at once? What was
the use of returning to the house, seeing Élisabeth
again, seeking a painful and futile explanation,
granting or refusing a forgiveness which his wife did
not ask of him, but which the daughter of Hermine
d'Andeville did not deserve?
In front of the principal inn a diligence stood wait-
ing, marked, “Corvigny-Ornequin Railway Ser-
vice.” A few passengers were getting in. Without
giving a further thought to a position which events


58
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
were developing in their own way, he climbed into the
diligence.
At the Corvigny railway station he was told that
his train would not leave for half an hour and that
it was the last, as the evening train, which connected
with the night express on the main line, was not run-
ning. Paul took his ticket and then asked his way to
the jobmaster of the village. He found that the man
owned two motor cars and arranged with him to
have the larger of the two sent at once to the Châ-
teau d'Ornequin and placed at Mme. Paul Delroze's
disposal.
And he wrote a short note to his wife:
“Élisabeth:
“Circumstances are so serious that I must ask you
to leave Ornequin. The trains have become very un-
certain; and I am sending you a motor car which
will take you to-night to your aunt at Chaumont. I
suppose that the servants will go with you and that,
if there should be war (which seems to me very un-
likely, in spite of everything), Jérôme and Rosalie
will shut up the house and go to Corvigny.
“As for me, I am joining my regiment. Whatever
the future may hold in store for us, Élisabeth, I
shall never forget the woman who was my bride and
who bears my name.
“PAUL DELROZE.”


CHAPTER IV
A LETTER FROM ELISABETH
It was nine o'clock; there was no holding the posi-
tion; and the colonel was furious.
He had brought his regiment in the middle of the
night-it was in the first month of the war, on the
22nd of August, 1914-to the junction of those
three roads one of which ran from Belgian Luxem-
burg. The Germans had taken possession of the
lines of the frontier, seven or eight miles away, on
the day before. The general commanding the divi-
sion had expressly ordered that they were to hold the
enemy in check until mid-day, that is to say, until
the whole division was able to come up with them.
The regiment was supported by a battery of seventy-
fives.
The colonel had drawn up his men in a dip in the
ground. The battery was likewise hidden. And
yet, at the first gleams of dawn, both regiment
and battery were located by the enemy and lustily
shelled.
They moved a mile or more to the right. Five
minutes later the shells fell and killed half a dozen
men and two officers.
59


60
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
A fresh move was effected, followed in ten minutes
by a fresh attack. The colonel pursued his tactics.
In an hour there were thirty men killed or wounded.
One of the guns was destroyed. And it was only
nine o'clock.
“Damn it all!” cried the colonel. “How can they
spot us like this? There's witchcraft in it.”
He was hiding, with his majors, the captain of ar-
tillery and a few dispatch-riders, behind a bank
from above which the eye took in a rather large
stretch of undulating upland. At no great distance,
on the left, was an abandoned village, with some
scattered farms in front of it, and there was not an
enemy to be seen in all that deserted extent of coun-
try. There was nothing to show where the hail of
shells was coming from. The seventy-fives had
"searched” one or two points with no result. The
firing continued.
"Three more hours to hold out," growled the col-
onel. “We shall do it; but we shall lose a quarter of
the regiment.”
At that moment a shell whistled between the offi-
cers and the dispatch-riders and plumped down into
the ground. All sprang back, awaiting the explosion.
But one man, a corporal, ran forward, lifted the shell
and examined it.
"You're mad, corporal!” roared the colonel.
“Drop that shell and be quick about it.”
The corporal replaced the projectile quietly in
the hole which it had made; and then without hur-


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH
61
rying, went up to the colonel, brought his heels
together and saluted:
“Excuse me, sir, but I wanted to see by the
fuse how far off the enemy's guns are. It's two
miles and fifty yards. That may be worth know-
ing."
“By Jove! And suppose it had gone off ?”
“Ah, well, sir, nothing venture, nothing have !"
“True, but, all the same, it was a bit thick!
What's your name?”
“Paul Delroze, sir, corporal in the third com-
pany."
"Well, Corporal Delroze, I congratulate you on
your pluck and I dare say you'll soon have your
sergeant's stripes. Meanwhile, take my advice and
don't do it again. . .."
He was interrupted by the sudden bursting of a
shrapnel-shell. One of the dispatch-riders standing
near him fell, hit in the chest, and an officer stag-
gered under the weight of the earth that spattered
against him.
“Come,” said the colonel, when things had restored
themselves, “there's nothing to do but bow before the
storm. Take the best shelter you can find; and
let's wait."
Paul Delroze stepped forward once more.
“Forgive me, sir, for interfering in what's not
my business; but we might, I think, avoid ..."
"Avoid the peppering? Of course, I have only
to change our position again. But, as we should be


62 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
located again at once. . . . There, my lad, go back
to your place."
Paul insisted:
"It might be a question, sir, not of changing our
position, but of changing the enemy's fire.”
"Really!" said the colonel, a little sarcastically,
but nevertheless impressed by Paul's coolness. “And
do you know a way of doing it?"
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“Give me twenty minutes, sir, and by that time
the shells will be falling in another direction.”
The colonel could not help smiling:
“Capital! You'll make them drop where you
please, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir."
“On that beet-field over there, fifteen hundred
yards to the right?”
“Yes, sir.”
The artillery-captain, who had been listening to
the conversation, made a jest in his turn:
“While you are about it, corporal, as you have
already given me the distance and I know the direc-
tion more or less, couldn't you give it to me exactly,
so chat I may lay my guns right and smash the Ger-
man batteries?”
“That will be a longer job, sir, and much more
difficult,” said Paul. “Still, I'll try. If you don't
mind examining the horizon, at eleven o'clock pre-
cisely, towards the frontier, I'll let off a signal.”


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH
63
“What sort of signal?”
“I don't know, sir. Three rockets, I expect.”
“But your signal will be no use unless you send
it off immediately above the enemy's position.”
“Just so, sir.”
“And, to do that, you'll have to know it.”
“I shall, sir.”
“And to get there.”
“I shall get there, sir.”
Paul saluted, turned on his heel and, before the
officers had time either to approve or to object, he
slipped along the foot of the slope at a run, plunged
on the left down a sort of hollow way, with brist-
ling edges of brambles, and disappeared from
sight. :
“That's a queer fellow," said he colonel. “I won-
der what he really means to do."
The young soldier's pluck and decision disposed
the colonel in his favor; and, though he felt only a
limited confidence in the result of the enterprise, he
could not help looking at his watch, time after time,
during the minutes which he spent with his officers,
behind the feeble rampart of a hay-stack. They were
terrible minutes, in which the commanding officer did
not think for a moment of the danger that threat-
ened himself, but only of the danger of the men in
his charge, whom he looked upon as children.
He saw them around him, lying at full length on
the stubble, with their knapsacks over their heads,
or snugly ensconced in the copses, or squatting in


64
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
the hollows in the ground. The iron hurricane in-
creased in violence. It came rushing down like a
furious hail bent upon hastily completing its work
of destruction. Men suddenly leapt to their feet,
spun on their heels and fell motionless, amid the
yells of the wounded, the shouts of the soldiers ex-
changing remarks and even jokes and, over every-
thing, the incessant thunder of the bursting bomb-
shells.
And then, suddenly, silence! Total, definite silence,
an infinite lull in the air and on the ground, giving
a sort of ineffable relief!
The colonel expressed his delight by bursting into
a laugh:
"By Jupiter, Corporal Delroze knows his way
about! The crowning achievement would be for the
beet-field to be shelled, as he promised.”
He had not finished speaking when a shell exploded
fifteen hundred yards to the right, not in the beet-
field, but a little in front of it. The second went too
far. The third found the spot. And the bombard-
ment began with a will.
There was something about the performance of
the task which the corporal had set himself that was
at once so astounding and so mathematically accu-
rate that the colonel and his officers had hardly a
doubt that he would carry it out to the end and that,
notwithstanding the insurmountable obstacles, he
would succeed in giving the signal agreed upon.
They never ceased sweeping the horizon with their


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH
65
field-glasses, while the enemy redoubled his efforts
against the beet-field.
At five minutes past eleven, a red rocket went up.
It appeared a good deal farther to the right than
they would have suspected. And it was followed by
two others.
Through his telescope the artillery-captain soon
discovered a church-steeple that just showed above
a valley which was itself invisible among the rise and
fall of the plateau; and the spire of the steeple pro-
truded so very little that it might well have been
taken for a tree standing by itself. A rapid glance
at the map showed that it was the village of Brumoy.
Knowing, from the shell examined by the corporal,
the exact distance of the German batteries, the cap-
tain telephoned his instructions to his lieutenant.
Half an hour later the German batteries were si-
lenced; and as a fourth rocket had gone up the sev-
enty-fives continued to bombard the church as well
as the village and its immediate neighborhood.
At a little before twelve, the regiment was joined
by a cyclists company riding ahead of the division.
The order was given to advance at all costs.
The regiment advanced, encountering no resist-
ance, as it approached Brumoy, except a few rifle
shots. The enemy's rearguard was falling back.
The village was in ruins, with some of its houses
still burning, and displayed a most incredible dis-
order of corpses, of wounded men, of dead horses,
demolished guns and battered caissons and baggage-


66
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
wagons. A whole brigade had been surprised at the
moment, when, feeling certain that it had cleared
the ground, it was about to march to the attack.
But a shout came from the top of the church, the
front and nave of which had fallen in and presented
an appearance of indescribable chaos. Only the
tower, perforated by gun-fire and blackened by the
smoke from some burning joists, still remained
standing, bearing by some miracle of equilibrium, the
slender stone spire with which it was crowned. With
his body leaning out of this spire was a peasant, wav-
ing his arms and shouting to attract attention.
The officers recognized Paul Delroze.
Picking their way through the rubbish, our men
climbed the staircase that led to the platform of the
tower. Here, heaped up against the little door ad-
mitting to the spire, were the bodies of eight Ger-
mans; and the door, which was demolished and had
dropped crosswise, barred the entrance in such a way
that it had to be chopped to pieces before Paul
could be released.
Toward the end of the afternoon, when it was
manifest that the obstacles to the pursuit of the
enemy were too serious to be overcome, the colonel
embraced Corporal Delroze in front of the regiment
mustered in the square.
"Let's speak of your reward first,” he said. “I
shall recommend you for the military medal; and you
will be sure to get it. And now, my lad, tell your
story."


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH
67
And Paul stood answering questions in the middle
of the circle formed around him by the officers and
the non-commissioned officers of each company.
“Why, it's very simple, sir,” he said. “We were
being spied upon.”
"Obviously; but who was the spy and where was
he?”
“I learnt that by accident. Beside the position
which we occupied this morning, there was a vil-
lage, was there not, with a church?”
“Yes, but I had the village evacuated when I ar-
rived; and there was no one in the church.”
“If there was no one in the church, sir, why did
the weather-vane point the wind coming from the
east, when it was blowing from the west? And why,
when we changed our position, was the vane pointed
in our direction?”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes, sir. And that was why, after obtaining your
leave, I did not hesitate to slip into the church and
to enter the steeple as stealthily as I could. I was
not mistaken. There was a man there whom I man-
aged to overmaster, not without difficulty.”
“The scoundrel! A Frenchman?”
“No, sir, a German dressed up as a peasant."
“He shall be shot.”
“No, sir, please. I promised him his life.”
“Never!”
“Well, you see, sir, I had to find out how he was
keeping the enemy informed.”


68
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Well?”
"Oh, it was simple enough! The church has a
clock, facing the north, of which we could not see
the dial, where we were. From the inside, our friend
worked the hands so that the big hand, resting by
turns on three or four figures, announced the exact
distance at which we were from the church, in the di-
rection pointed by the vane. This is what I next did
myself; and the enemy at once, redirecting his fire
by my indications, began conscientiously to shell the
beet-field.”
"He did,” said the colonel, laughing.
“All that remained for me to do was to move on
to the other observation-post, where the spy's mes-
sages were received. There I would learn the essen-
tial details which the spy himself did not know; I
mean, where the enemy's batteries were hidden. I
therefore ran to this place; and it was only on arriv-
ing here that I saw those batteries and a whole Ger-
man brigade posted at the very foot of the church
which did the duty of signaling-station."
“But that was a mad piece of recklessness! Didn't
they fire on you?”
"I had put on the spy's clothes, sir, their spy's.
I can speak German, I knew the pass-word and only
one of them knew the spy and that was the officer on
observation-duty. Without the least suspicion, the
general commanding the brigade sent me to him as
soon as I told him that the French had discovered
me and that I had managed to escape them.”


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH
69
“And you had the cheek . .. pas
“I had to, sir; and besides I held all the trump
cards. The officer suspected nothing; and, when I
reached the platform from which he was sending his
signals, I had no difficulty in attacking him and re-
ducing him to silence. My business was done and I
had only to give you the signals agreed upon.”
"Only that! In the midst of six or seven thousand
men!"
“I had promised you, sir, and it was eleven o'clock.
The platform had on it all the apparatus required
for sending day or night signals. Why shouldn't I
use it? I lit a rocket, followed by a second and a
third and then a fourth; and the battle commenced.”
“But those rockets were indications to draw our
fire upon the very steeple where you were! It was
you we were firing on!”
“Oh, I assure you, sir, one doesn't think of those
things at such moments! I welcomed the first shell
that struck the church. And then the enemy left me
hardly any time for reflection. Half-a-dozen fel-
lows at once came climbing the tower. I accounted
for some of them with my revolver; but a second as-
sault came and, later on, still another. I had to
take refuge behind the door that closes the spire.
When they had broken it down, it served me as a
barricade; and, as I had the arms and ammunition
which I had taken from my first assailants and was
inaccessible and very nearly invisible, I found it easy
to sustain a regular siege.”


70
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“While our seventy-fives were blazing away at
you."
“While our seventy-fives were releasing me, sir;
for you can understand that, once the church was
destroyed and the nave in flames, no one dared to
venture up the tower. I had nothing to do, there-
fore, but wait patiently for your arrival.”
Paul Delroze had told his story in the simplest
way and as though it concerned perfectly natural
things. The colonel, after congratulating him again,
confirmed his promotion to the rank of sergeant and
said:
"Have you nothing to ask me?”
“Yes, sir, I should like to put a few more questions
to the German spy whom I left behind me and, at
the same time, to get back my uniform, which I
hid.”
“Very well, you shall dine here and we'll give you
a bicycle afterwards."
Paul was back at the first church by seven o'clock
in the evening. A great disappointment awaited him.
The spy had broken his bonds and fled.
All Paul's searching, in the church and village, was
useless. Nevertheless, on one of the steps of the stair-
case, near the place where he had flung himself upon
the spy, he picked up the dagger with which his ad-
versary had tried to strike him. It was exactly simi-
lar to the dagger which he had picked up in the grass,
three weeks before, outside the little gate in the
Ornequin woods. It had the same three-cornered


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH
71
blade, the same brown horn handle and, on the handle,
the same four letters: H, E, R, M.
The spy and the woman who bore so strange a
resemblance to Hermine d’Andeville, his father's mur-
deress, both made use of an identical weapon.
Next day, the division to which Paul's regiment
belonged continued the offensive and entered Belgium
after repulsing the enemy. But in the evening the
general received orders to fall back.
The retreat began. Painful as it was to one and
all, it was doubly so perhaps to those of our troops
which had been victorious at the start. Paul and
his comrades in the third company could not contain
themselves for rage and disappointment. During
the half a day which they spent in Belgium, they
saw the ruins of a little town that had been destroyed
by the Germans, the bodies of eighty women who had
been shot, old men hung up by their feet, stacks of
murdered children. And they had to retire before
those monsters!
Some of the Belgian soldiers had attached them-
selves to the regiment; and, with faces that still bore
traces of horror at the infernal visions which they
had beheld, these men told of things beyond the con-
ception of the most vivid imagination. And our
fellows had to retire. They had to retire with
hatred in their hearts and a mad desire for ven-
geance that made their hands close fiercely on their
rifles,


172
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
And why retire? It was not a question of being
defeated, because they were falling back in good
order, making sudden halts and delivering violent
counter-attacks upon the disconcerted enemy. But
his numbers overpowered all resistance. The wave
of barbarians reformed itself. The place of each
thousand dead was taken by two thousand of the
living. And our men retired.
One evening, Paul learnt one of the reasons for
this retreat from a week-old newspaper; and he was
painfully affected by the news. On the 20th of Au-
gust, Corvigny had been taken by assault, after some
hours of bombardment effected under the most in-
explicable conditions, whereas the stronghold was
believed to be capable of holding out for at least some
days, which would have strengthened our operations
against the left flank of the Germans.
So Corvigny had fallen; and the Château d'Orne-
quin, doubtless abandoned, as Paul himself hoped, by
Jérôme and Rosalie, was now destroyed, pillaged and
sacked with the methodical thoroughness which the
Huns applied to their work of devastation. On this
side, too, the furious horde were crowding precipi-
tately.
Those were sinister days, at the end of August,
the most tragic days perhaps that France has ever
passed through. Paris was threatened, a dozen de-
partments were invaded. Death's icy breath hung
over our gallant nation.
It was on the morning of one of these days that


A LETTER FROM ÉLISABETH 73
Paul 'heard a cheerful voice calling to him from a
group of young soldiers behind him:
“Paul, Paul! I've got my way at last! Isn't it a
stroke of luck?”
Those young soldiers were lads who had enlisted
voluntarily and been drafted into the regiment; and
Paul at once recognized Élisabeth's brother, Bernard
d'Andeville. He had no time to think of the attitude
which he had best take up. His first impulse would
have been to turn away; but Bernard had seized his
two hands and was pressing them with an affectionate
kindness which showed that the boy knew nothing
as yet of the breach between Paul and his wife.
“Yes, it's myself, old chap,” he declared gaily. “I
may call you old chap, mayn't I? It's myself and
it takes your breath away, what? You're thinking
of a providential meeting, the sort of coincidence one
never sees: two brothers-in-law dropping into the
same regiment. Well, it's not that: it happened at
my express request. I said to the authorities, 'I'm
enlisting by way of a duty and pleasure combined,'
or words to that effect. “But, as a crack athlete and
a prize-winner in every gymnastic and drill-club I
ever joined, I want to be sent to the front straight
away and into the same regiment as my brother-in-
law, Corporal Paul Delroze. And, as they couldn't
do without my services, they packed me off here. ...
Well? You don't look particularly delighted ...?"
Paul was hardly listening. He said to himself:
“This is the son of Hermine d’Andeville, The boy


74
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
who is now touching me is the son of the woman who
killed ..."
But Bernard's face expressed such candor and
such open-hearted pleasure at seeing him that he
said:
“Yes, I am. Only you're so young!"
“I? I'm quite ancient. Seventeen the day I en-
listed.”
“But what did your father say?"
"Dad gave me leave. But for that, of course, I
shouldn't have given him leave."
“What do you mean?”
“Why, he's enlisted, too."
“At his age?”
“Nonsense, he's quite juvenile. Fifty the day he
enlisted! They found him a job as interpreter with
the British staff. All the family under arms, you
see. ... Oh, I was forgetting, I've a letter for you
from Élisabeth!"
Paul started. He had deliberately refrained from
asking after his wife. He now said, as he took the
letter:
“So she gave you this . .. pes
“No, she sent it to us from Ornequin."
“From Ornequin? How can she have done that?
Élisabeth left Ornequin on the day of mobilization,
in the evening. She was going to Chaumont, to her
aunt's.”
“Not at all. I went and said good-bye to our
aunt; she hadn't heard from Élisabeth since the be-


A LETTER FROM ELISABETH
175
ginning of the war. Besides, look at the envelope:
'M. Paul Delroze, care of M. D’Andeville, Paris, etc.'
And it's post-marked Ornequin and Corvigny."
Paul looked and stammered:
“Yes, you're right; and I can read the date on
the post-mark: 18 August. The 18th of August
... and Corvigny fell into the hands of the Ger-
mans two days later, on the 20th. So Élisabeth was
still there.”
"No, no,” cried Bernard, “Élisabeth isn't a child!
You surely don't think she would have waited for
the Huns, so close to the frontier! She would have
left the château at the first sound of firing. And
that's what she's telling you, I expect. Why don't
you read her letter, Paul?”
Paul, on his side, had no idea of what he was about
to learn on reading the letter; and he opened the
envelope with a shudder.
What Élisabeth wrote was:
“Paul,
“I cannot make up my mind to leave Ornequin. A
duty keeps me here in which I shall not fail, the
duty of clearing my mother's memory. Do under-
stand me, Paul. My mother remains the purest
of creatures in my eyes. The woman who nursed
me in her arms, for whom my father retains all his
love, must not be even suspected. But you your-
self accuse her; and it is against you that I wish
to defend her. To compel you to believe me, I shall


76
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
find the proofs that are not necessary to convince
me. And it seems to me that those proofs can only
be found here. So I shall stay.
“Jérôme and Rosalie are also staying on, though
the enemy is said to be approaching. They have
brave hearts, both of them, and you have nothing to
fcar, as I shall not be alone.
ÉLISABETH DELROZE."
Paul folded up the letter. He was very pale.
Bernard asked:
“She's gone, hasn't she?”
“No, she's there.”
“But this is madness! What, with those beasts
about! A lonely country-house! ... But look here,
Paul, she must surely know the terrible dangers that
threaten her! ... What can be keeping her there?
Oh, it's too dreadful to think of. ..."
Paul stood silent, with a drawn face and clenched
fists. ...


CHAPTER V
THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY
THREE weeks before, on hearing that war was de-
clared, Paul had felt rising within him the immediate
resolution to get killed at all costs. The tragedy
of his life, the horror of his marriage with a woman
whom he still loved in his heart, the certainty which
he had acquired at the Château d'Ornequin: all this
had affected him to such a degree that he came to
look upon death as a boon. To him, war represented,
from the first and without the least demur, death.
However much he might admire the solemnly im-
pressive and magnificently consoling events of those
first few weeks—the perfect order of the mobiliza-
tion, the enthusiasm of the soldiers, the wonderful
unity that prevailed in France, the awakening of the
souls of the nation-none of these great spectacles
attracted his attention. Deep down within himself
he had determined that he would perform acts of
such kind that not even the most improbable hazard
could succeed in saving him.
Thus he thought that he had found the desired
occasion on the first day. To overmaster the spy
whose presence he suspected in the church steeple


178
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
and then to penetrate to the very heart of the enemy's
lines, in order to signal the position, meant going to
certain death. He went bravely. And, as he had a
very clear sense of his mission, he fulfilled it with
as much prudence as courage. He was ready to die,
but to die after succeeding. And he found a strange
unexpected joy in the act itself as well as in the
success that attended it.
The discovery of the dagger employed by the spy
made a great impression on him. What connection
did it establish between this man and the one who
had tried to stab him? What was the connection
between these two and the Comtesse d’Andeville, who
had died sixteen years ago? And how, by what in-
visible links, were they all three related to that same
work of treachery and spying of which Paul had sur-
prised so many instances ?
But Élisabeth's letter, above all, came upon him
as a very violent blow. She was over there, amidst
the bullets and the shells, the hot fighting around the
château, the madness and the fury of the victors,
the burning, the shooting, the torturing and atroci-
ties! She was there, she so young and beautiful,
almost alone, with no one to defend her! And she
was there because he, Paul, had not had the grit to
go back to her and see her once more and take her
away with him!
These thoughts produced in Paul fits of depression
from which he would suddenly awaken to thrust him-
self in the path of some danger, pursuing his mad


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 79
enterprises to the end, come what might, with a quiet
courage and a fierce obstinacy that filled his com-
rades with both surprise and admiration. And from
that time onward he seemed to be seeking not so
much death as the unspeakable ecstasy which a man
feels in defying it.
Then came the 6th of September, the day of the
unheard-of miracle when our great general-in-chief,
addressing his armies in words that will never perish,
at last ordered them to Aing themselves upon the
enemy. The gallantly-borne but cruel retreat came
to an end. Exhausted, breathless, fighting against
odds for days, with no time for sleep, with no time
to eat, marching only by force of prodigious efforts
of which they were not even conscious, unable to say
why they did not lie down in the road-side ditches
to await death, such were the men who received the
word of command:
“Halt! About face! And now have at the enemy!”
And they faced about. Those dying men recovered
their strength. From the humblest to the most illus-
trious, each summoned up his will and fought as
though the safety of France depended upon him-
alone. There were as many glorious heroes as there
were soldiers. They were asked to conquer or die.
They conquered.
Paul shone in the front rank of the fearless. He
himself knew that what he did and what he endured,
what he tried to do and what he succeeded in doing
surpassed the limits of reality. On the 6th and the


80
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
7th and the 8th and again from the 11th to the 13th,
despite his excessive fatigue, despite the deprivations
of sleep and food which it seemed impossible for the
human frame to resist, he had no other sensation
than that of advancing and again advancing—and
always advancing. Whether in sunshine or in shade,
whether on the banks of the Marne or on the woody
slopes of the Argonne, whether north or east, when
his division was sent to reinforce the troops on the
frontier, whether lying flat and creeping along in the
plowed fields or on his feet and charging with the
bayonet, he was always going forward and each step
was a delivery and each step was a conquest.
Each step also increased the hatred in his heart.
Oh, how right his father had been to loathe those
people! Paul now saw them at work. On every side
were stupid devastation and anreasoning destruction,
on every side arson, pillage and death, hostages shot,
women murdered, bestially, for the love of the thing.
Churches, country-houses, mansions of the rich and
cabins of the poor: nothing remained. The very
ruins had been razed to the ground, the very corpses
tortured.
O the delight of defeating such an enemy! Though
reduced to half its full strength, Paul's regiment, re-
leased like a pack of hounds, never ceased biting at
the wild beast which it was hunting. The quarry
seemed more vicious and formidable the nearer it ap-
proached to the frontier; and our men kept rushing
at it in the mad hope of giving it the death-stroke.


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 81
One day Paul read on a sign-post at a cross-roads :
Corvigny, 14 Kil.
Ornequin, 31 Kil. 400.
The Frontier, 33 Kil. 200.
Corvigny! Ornequin! A thrill passed through his
frame when he saw those unexpected words. As a
rule, absorbed as he was by the heat of the conflict
and by his private cares, he paid little attention to
the names of the places which he passed; and he
learnt them only by chance. And now suddenly he
was within so short a distance of the Château d'Orne-
quin! “Corvigny, 14 kilometers :" less than nine
miles! ... Were the French troops making for
Corvigny, for the little fortified place which the Ger-
mans had taken by assault and taken under such
strange conditions?
That day, they had been fighting since daylight
against an enemy whose resistance seemed to grow
slacker and slacker. Paul, at the head of a squad of
men, was sent to the village of Bléville with orders
to enter it if the enemy had retired, but got no
farther. And it was just beyond the last houses of
the village that he saw the sign-post.
At the time, he was not quite easy in his mind. A
Taube had flown over the country a few minutes
before. There was the possibility of an ambush.
“Let's go back to the village,” he said. “We'li
barricade ourselves while we wait.”


82
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
But there was a sudden noise behind a wooded hill
that interrupted the road in the Corvigny direction,
a noise that became more and more definite, until
Paul recognized the powerful throb of a motor,
doubtless a motor carrying a quick-firing gun.
“Crouch down in the ditch,” he cried to his men.
"Hide yourselves in the haystacks. Fix bayonets.
And don't move any of you!”
He had realized the danger of that motor's pass-
ing through the village, plunging in the midst of his
company, scattering panic and then making off by
some other way.
He quickly climbed the split trunk of an old oak
and took up his position in the branches a few feet
above the road.
The motor soon came in sight. It was, as he ex-
pected, an armored car, but one of the old pattern,
which allowed the helmets and heads of the men to
show above the steel plating.
It came along at a smart pace, ready to dart for-
ward in case of alarm. The men were stooping with
bent backs. Paul counted half-a-dozen of them. The
barrels of two Maxim guns projected beyond the
car.
He put his rifle to his shoulder and took aim at
the driver, a fat Teuton with a scarlet face that
seemed dyed with blood. Then, when the moment
came, he calmly fired.
“Charge, lads !” he cried, as he scrambled down
from his tree.


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 83
But it was not even necessary to take the car by
storm. The driver, struck in the chest, had had
the presence of mind to apply the brakes and pull
up. Seeing themselves surrounded, the Germans
threw up their hands :
“Kamerad! Kamerad!”
And one of them, flinging down his arms, leapt
from the motor and came running up to Paul:
“An Alsatian, sergeant, an Alsatian from Stras-
burg! Ah, sergeant, many's the day that I've been
waiting for this moment!”
While his men were taking the prisoners to the
village, Paul hurriedly questioned the Alsatian:
“Where has the car come from?”
“Corvigny."
“Any of your people there?”
“Very few. A rearguard of two hundred and fifty
Badeners at the most.”
“And in the forts?”
“About the same number. They didn't think it
necessary to mend the turrets and now they've been
taken unprepared. They're hesitating whether to
try and make a stand or to fall back on the frontier;
and that's why we were sent to reconnoiter.”
“So we can go ahead?”
“Yes, but at once, else they will receive powerful
reinforcements, two divisions."
“When?”
“To-morrow. They're to cross the frontier, to-
morrow, about the middle of the day.”


84 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“By Jove! There's no time to be lost!” said Paul.
While examining the guns and having the prisoners
disarmed and searched, Paul was considering the best
measures to take, when one of his men, who had
stayed behind in the village, came and told him of
the arrival of a French detachment, with a lieutenant
in command.
Paul hastened to tell the officer what had hap-
pened. Events called for immediate action. He
offered to go on a scouting expedition in the cap-
tured motor.
“Very well,” said the officer. “I'll occupy the vil-
lage and arrange to have the division informed as
soon as possible.”
The car made off in the direction of Corvigny,
with eight men packed inside. Two of them, placed
in charge of the quick-firing guns, studied the mech-
anism. The Alsatian stood up, so as to show his
helmet and uniform clearly, and scanned the horizon
on every side.
All this was decided upon and done in the space
of a few minutes, without discussion and without de-
laying over the details of the undertaking.
“We must trust to luck,” said Paul, taking his
seat at the wheel. “Are you ready to see the job
through, boys?"
“Yes; and further," said a voice which he recog-
nized, just behind him.
It was Bernard d'Andeville, Élisabeth's brother.
Bernard belonged to the 9th company; and Paul had


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 85
succeeded in avoiding him, since their first meeting,
or at least in not speaking to him. But he knew
that the youngster was fighting well.
"Ah, so you're there?” he said.
“In the flesh,” said Bernard. “I came along with
my lieutenant; and, when I saw you getting into the
motor and taking any one who turned up, you can
imagine how I jumped at the chance!" And he added,
in a more embarrassed tone, “The chance of doing
a good stroke of work, under your orders, and the
chance of talking to you, Paul . . . for I've been
unlucky so far. ...I even thought that ...
that you were not as well-disposed to me as I
hoped ..."
“Nonsense,” said Paul. “Only I was both-
ered. ..."
• “You mean, about Élisabeth ?”
“Yes."
“I see. All the same, that doesn't explain why
there was something between us, a sort of con-
straint ..."
At that moment, the Alsatian exclaimed:
"Lie low there! ... Uhlans ahead! ..."
A patrol came trotting down a cross-road, turning
the corner of a wood. He shouted to them, as the
car passed:
“Clear out, Kameraden! Fast as you can! The
French are coming!"
Paul took advantage of the incident not to answer
his brother-in-law. He had forced the pace; and


86
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
the motor was now thundering along, scaling the hills
and shooting down them like a meteor.
The enemy detachments became more numerous.
The Alsatian called out to them or else by means
of signs incited them to beat an immediate retreat.
"It's the funniest thing to see,” he said, laughing.
“They're all galloping behind us like mad.” And
he added, "I warn you, sergeant, that at this rate we
shall dash right into Corvigny. Is that what you
want to do?”
“No," replied Paul, “we'll stop when the town's
in sight."
“And, if we're surrounded?”
“By whom? In any case, these bands of fugitives
won't be able to oppose our return."
Bernard d'Andeville spoke:
“Paul,” he said, “I don't believe you're thinking
of returning.”
“You're quite right. Are you afraid?”
“Oh, what an ugly word!"
But presently Paul went on, in a gentler voice:
“I'm sorry you came, Bernard.”
“Is the danger greater for me than for you and
the others?"
"No."
“Then do me the honor not to be sorry."
Still standing up and leaning over the sergeant,
the Alsatian pointed with his hand:
“That spire straight ahead, behind the trees, is
Corvigny. I calculate that, by slanting up the hills


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 87
on the left, we ought to be able to see what's happen-
ing in the town."
"We shall see much better by going inside,” Paul
remarked. “Only it's a big risk . . . especially for
you, Alsatian. If they take you prisoner, they'll
shoot you. Shall I put you down this side of
Corvigny?"
“You haven't studied my face, sergeant."
The road was now running parallel with the rail-
way. Soon, the first houses of the outskirts came
in sight. A few soldiers appeared.
“Not a word to these,” Paul ordered. “It won't
do to startle them ... or they'll take us from be-
hind at the critical moment."
He recognized the station and saw that it was
strongly held. Spiked helmets were coming and going
along the avenues that led to the town.
"Forward!” cried Paul. “If there's any large
body of troops, it can only be in the square. Are
the guns ready? And the rifles ? See to mine for
me, Bernard. And, at the first signal, independent
fire !"
The motor rushed at full speed into the square.
As he expected, there were about a hundred men
there, all massed in front of the church-steps, near
their stacked rifles. The church was a mere heap
of ruins; and almost all the houses in the square
had been leveled to the ground by the bombard-
ment.
The officers, standing on one side, cheered and
led to the there's ange. Are


88
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
waved their hands on seeing the motor which they
had sent out to reconnoiter and whose return they
seemed to be expecting before making their decision
about the defense of the town. There were a good
many of them, their number no doubt including some
communication officers. A general stood a head and
shoulders above the rest. A number of cars were
waiting some little distance away.
The street was paved with cobble-stones and there
was no raised pavement between it and the square.
Paul followed it; but, when he was within twenty
yards of the officers, he gave a violent turn of the
wheel and the terrible machine made straight for the
group, knocking them down and running over them,
slanted off slightly, so as to take the stacks of rifles,
and then plunged like an irresistible mass right into
the middle of the detachment, spreading death as it
went, amid a mad, hustling flight and yells of pain
and terror.
“Independent fire!" cried Paul, stopping the car.
And the firing began from this impregnable block-
house, which had suddenly sprung up in the center
of the square, accompanied by the sinister crackle of
the two Maxim guns.
In five minutes, the square was strewn with killed
and wounded men. The general and several officers
lay dead. The survivors took to their heels.
Paul gave the order to cease fire and took the
car to the top of the avenue that led to the station.
The troops from the station were hastening up, at-


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 89
tracted by the shooting. A few volleys from the
guns dispersed them.
Paul drove three times quickly round the square,
to examine the approaches. On every side the enemy
was fleeing along the roads and paths to the frontier.
And on every hand the inhabitants of Corvigny came
out of their houses and gave vent to their delight.
“Pick up and see to the wounded,” Paul ordered.
“And send for the bell-ringer, or some one who un-
derstands about the bells. It's urgent!"
An aged sacristan appeared.
“The tocsin, old man, the tocsin for all you're
worth! And, when you're tired, have some one to
take your place! The tocsin, without stopping for
a second !"
This was the signal which Paul had agreed upon
with the French lieutenant, to announce to the di-
vision that the enterprise had succeeded and that
the troops were to advance.
It was two o'clock. At five, the staff and a brigade
had taken possession of Corvigny and our seventy-
fives were firing a few shells. By ten o'clock in the
evening, the rest of the division having come up mean-
time, the Germans had been driven out of the Grand
Jonas and the Petit Jonas and were concentrating
before the frontier. It was decided to dislodge them
at daybreak.
“Paul,” said Bernard to his brother-in-law, at the
evening roll-call, “I have something to tell you, some-
thing that puzzles me, a very queer thing: you'll


90
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
judge for yourself. Just now, I was walking down
one of the streets near the church when a woman
spoke to me. I couldn't make out her face or her
dress at first, because it was almost dark, but she
seemed to be a peasant-woman from the sound of
her wooden shoes on the cobbles. 'Young man,' she
said-and her way of expressing herself surprised
me a little in a peasant-woman-Young man, you
may be able to tell me something I want to know.'
I said I was at her service and she began, 'It's like
this: I live in a little village close by. I heard just
now that your army corps was here. So I came,
because I wanted to see a soldier who belonged to
it, only I don't know the number of his regiment.
I believe he has been transferred, because I never
get a letter from him; and I dare say he has not
had mine. Oh, if you only happened to know him!
He's such a good lad, such a gallant fellow.' I asked
her to tell me his name; and she answered, 'Delroze,
Corporal Paul Delroze.'”
“What!” cried Paul. “Did she want me?”
“Yes, Paul, and the coincidence struck me as so
curious that I just gave her the number of your regi-
ment and your company, without telling her that we
were related. 'Good,' she said. “And is the regiment
at Corvigny?' I said it had just arrived. “And do
you know Paul Delroze?' 'Only by name,' I an-
swered. I can't tell you why I answered like that,
or why I continued the conversation so as not to
let her guess my surprise:. 'He has been promoted


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 91
to sergeant,' I said, 'and mentioned in dispatches.
That's how I come to have heard his name. Shall I
find out where he is and take you to him?' 'Not
yet,' she said, 'not yet. I should be too much
upset.'”
“What on earth did she mean?”
“I can't imagine. It struck me as more and more
suspicious. Here was a woman looking for you
eagerly and yet putting off the chance of seeing you.
I asked her if she was very much interested in you
and she said yes, that you were her son.”
“Her son!”
"Up to then I am certain that she did not suspect
for a second that I was cross-examining her. But
my astonishment was so great that she drew back
into the shadow, as though to put herself on the de-
fensive. I slipped my hand into my pocket, pulled
out my little electric lamp, went up to her, pressed
the spring and flung the light full in her face. She
seemed disconcerted and stood for a moment without
moving. Then she quickly lowered a scarf which
she wore over her head and, with a strength which
I should never have believed, struck me on the arm
and made me drop my lamp. Then came a second
of absolute silence. I couldn't make out where she
was: whether in front of me, or on the right or the
left. There was no sound to tell me if she was there
still or not. But I understood presently, when, after
picking up my lamp and switching on the light again,
I saw her two wooden shoes on the ground. She had


92
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
stepped out of them and run away on her stocking-
feet. I hunted for her, but couldn't find her. She
had disappeared.”
Paul had listened to his brother-in-law's story with
increasing attention.
“Then you saw her face?” he asked.
“Oh, quite distinctly! A strong face, with black
hair and eyebrows and a look of great wickedness.
... Her clothes were those of a peasant-woman,
but too clean and too carefully put on: I felt some-
how that they were a disguise."
“About what age was she?”
“Forty."
“Would you know her again?”
“Without a moment's hesitation."
“What was the color of the scarf you mentioned ?”
“Black.”
“How was it fastened? In a knot?”
“No, with a brooch.”
“A cameo ?”
“Yes, a large cameo set in gold. How did you
know that?"
Paul was silent for some time and then said:
"I will show you to-morrow, in one of the rooms
at Ornequin, a portrait which should bear a striking
resemblance to the woman who spoke to you, the
sort of resemblance that exists between two sisters
perhaps ... or ... or ...” He took his
brother-in-law by the arm and, leading him along,
continued, “Listen to me, Bernard. There are terri-


THE PEASANT-WOMAN AT CORVIGNY 93
ble things around us, in the present and the past,
things that affect my life and Élisabeth's ... and
yours as well. Therefore, I am struggling in the
midst of a hideous obscurity in which enemies whom I
do not know have for twenty years been pursuing a
scheme which I am quite unable to understand. In
the beginning of the struggle, my father died, the
victim of a murder. To-day it is I that am being
threatened. My marriage with your sister is shat-
tered and nothing can bring us together again, just
as nothing will ever again allow you and me to be
on those terms of friendship and confidence which
we had the right to hope for. Don't ask me any
questions, Bernard, and don't try to find out any
more. One day, perhaps—and I do not wish that
day ever to arrive-you will know why I begged for
your silence.”


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN
95
ready under their concrete cupolas. Our fellows were
waiting.”
“And at Ornequin?" asked Bernard.
“At Ornequin, we had a company of light infan-
try. The officers put up at the house. This com-
pany, supported by a detachment of dragoons,
patrolled the frontier day and night. In case of
alarm, the orders were to inform the forts at once
and to retreat fighting. The evening of Wednesday
was absolutely quiet. A dozen dragoons had gal-
loped over the frontier till they were in sight of the
little German town of Èbrecourt. There was not a
movement of troops to be seen on that side, nor on
the railway-line that ends at Èbrecourt. The night
also was peaceful. Not a shot was fired. It is fully
proved that at two o'clock in the morning not a
single German soldier had crossed the frontier. Well,
at two o'clock exactly, a violent explosion was heard,
followed by four others at close intervals. These
explosions were due to the bursting of five four-
twenty shells which demolished straightway the three
cupolas of the Grand Jonas and the two cupolas of
the Petit Jonas.”
“What do you mean? Corvigny is fifteen miles
from the frontier; and the four-twenties don't carry
as far as that!”
“That didn't prevent six more shells falling at
Corvigny, all on the church or in the square. And
these six shells fell twenty minutes later, that is to
say, at the time when it was to be presumed that


96
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
the alarm would have been given and that the Cor-
vigny garrison would have assembled in the square.
This was just what had happened; and you can
imagine the carnage that resulted.”
“I agree; but, once more, the frontier was fifteen
miles away. That distance must have given our
troops time to form up again and to prepare for the
attacks foretold by the bombardment. They had at
least three or four hours before them.”
“They hadn't fifteen minutes. The bombardment
was not over before the assault began. Assault isn't
the word: our troops, those at Corvigny as well as
those which hastened up from the two forts, were
decimated and routed, surrounded by the enemy, shot
down or obliged to surrender, before it was possible
to organize any sort of resistance. It all happened
suddenly under the blinding glare of flash-lights
erected no one knew where or how. And the catas-
trophe was immediate. You may take it that Cor-
vigny was invested, attacked, captured and occupied
by the enemy, all in ten minutes.”
“But where did he come from? Where did he
spring from?”
“Nobody knows.”
“But the night-patrols on the frontier? The
sentries? The company on duty at Ornequin?”
"Never heard of again. No one knows anything,
not a word, not a rumor, about those three hundred
men whose business it was to keep watch and to warn
the others. You can reckon up the Corvigny garri-


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN 97
son, with the soldiers who escaped and the dead whom
the inhabitants identified and buried. But the three
hundred light infantry of Ornequin disappeared
without leaving the shadow of a trace behind them,
not a fugitive, not a wounded man, not a corpse,
nothing at all."
“It seems incredible. Whom did you talk to?"
“I saw ten people last night who, for a month,
with no one to interfere with them except a few sol-
diers of the Landsturm placed in charge of Corvigny,
have pursued a minute inquiry into all these prob-
lems, without establishing so much as a plausible
theory. One thing alone is certain: the business was
prepared long ago, down to the slightest detail. The
exact range had been taken of the forts, the cupolas,
the church and the square; and the siege-gun had
been placed in position before and accurately laid so
that the eleven shells should strike the eleven objects
aimed at. That's all. The rest is mystery.”
“And what about the château? And Élisabeth ?”
Paul had risen from his seat. The bugles were
sounding the morning roll-call. The gun-fire was
twice as intense as before. They both started for
the square; and Paul continued:
“Here, too, the mystery is bewildering and per-
haps worse. One of the cross-roads that run through
the fields between Corvigny and Ornequin has been
made a boundary by the enemy which no one here
had the right to overstep under pain of death.”
“Then Élisabeth ... ?”


98 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“I don't know, I know nothing more. And it's
terrible, this shadow of death lying over everything,
over every incident. It appears—I have not been
able to find out where the rumor originated—that
the village of Ornequin, near the château, no longer
exists. It has been entirely destroyed, more than
that, annihilated; and its four hundred inhabitants
have been sent away into captivity. And then ..."
Paul shuddered and, lowering his voice, went on,
“And then ... what did they do at the château?
You can see the house, you can still see it at a dis-
tance, with its walls and turrets standing. But what
happened behind those walls? What has become of
Élisabeth? For nearly four weeks she has been living
in the midst of those brutes, poor thing, exposed to
every outrage! ..."
The sun had hardly risen when they reached the
square. Paul was sent for by his colonel, who gave
him the heartiest congratulations of the general com-
manding the division and told him that his name had
been submitted for the military cross and for a com-
mission as second lieutenant and that he was to
take command of his section from now.
“That's all,” said the colonel, laughing. “Unless
you have any further request to make.”
“I have two, sir."
“Go ahead.”
“First, that my brother-in-law here, Bernard
d'Andeville, may be at once transferred to my section
as corporal. He's deserved it.”


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN 99
“Very well. And next?”
"My second request is that presently, when we
move towards the frontier, my section may be sent
to the Château d'Ornequin, which is on the direct
route.”
“You mean that it is to take part in the attack on
the château?”
“The attack?" echoed Paul, is alarm. “Why, the
enemy is concentrated along the frontier, four miles
from the château !”
“So it was believed, yesterday. In reality, the
concentration took place at the Château d'Ornequin,
an excellent defensive position where the enemy is
hanging desperately while waiting for his reinforce-
ments to come up. The best proof is that he's an-
swering our fire. Look at that shell bursting over
there . . . and, farther off, that shrapnel . . . two
... three of them. Those are the guns which lo-
cated the batteries which we have set up on the sur-
rounding hills and which are now peppering them
like mad. They must have twenty guns there.”
“Then, in that case,” stammered Paul, tortured by
a horrible thought, "in that case, that fire of our
batteries is directed at ..."
“At them, of course. Our seventy-fives have been
bombarding the Château d'Ornequin for the last
hour."
Paul uttered an exclamation of horror:
“Do you mean to say, sir, that we're bombarding
Ornequin? ..."


100
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
And Bernard d’Andeville, standing beside him, re-
peated, in an anguish-stricken voice:
“Bombarding Ornequin? Oh, how awful!"
The colonel asked, in surprise:
“Do you know the place? Perhaps it belongs to
you? Is that so? And are any of your people
there?”
“Yes, sir, my wife.”
Paul was very pale. Though he made an effort
to stand stock-still, in order to master his emotion,
his hands trembled a little and his chin quivered.
On the Grand Jonas, three pieces of heavy artil-
lery began thundering, three Rimailho guns, which
had been hoisted into position by traction engines.
And this, added to the stubborn work of the seventy-
fives, assumed a terrible significance after Paul Del-
roze's words. The colonel and the group of officers
around him kept silence. The situation was one of
those in which the fatalities of war run riot in all
their tragic horror, stronger than the forces of
nature themselves and, like them, blind, unjust and
implacable. There was nothing to be done. Not
one of those men would have dreamt of asking for
the gun-fire to cease or to slacken its activity. And
Paul did not dream of it, either. He merely said:
"It looks as if the enemy's fire was slowing down.
Perhaps they are retreating. ..."
Three shells bursting at the far end of the town,
behind the church, belied this hope. The colonel
shook his head:


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN 101
“Retreating? Not yet. The place is too impor-
tant to them; they are waiting for reinforcements
and they won't give way until our regiments take
part in the game ... which won't be long now.”
In fact, the order to advance was brought to the
colonel a few moments later. The regiment was to
follow the road and deploy in the meadows on the
right.
“Come along, gentlemen," he said to his officers.
“Sergeant Delroze's section will march in front. His
objective will be the Château d'Ornequin. There
are two little short cuts. Take both of them.”
“Very well, sir.”
All Paul's sorrow and rage were intensified in a
boundless need for action; when he marched off with
his men, he felt an inexhaustible strength, felt capable
of conquering the enemy's position all by himself.
He moved from one to the other with the untiring
hurry of a sheep-dog hustling his flock. He never
ceased advising and encouraging his men:
“You're one of the plucky ones, old chap, I know,
you're no shirker. . . . Nor you either ... Only
you think too much about your skin, you keep
grumbling, when you ought to be cheerful. . .
Who's downhearted, eh? There's a bit more collar-
work to do and we're going to do it without looking
behind us, what?"
Overhead, the shells followed their march in the
air, whistling and moaning and exploding till they
formed a sort of canopy of steel and grape-shot.


102
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
THE WOM.
“Duck your heads! Lie down flat!” cried Paul.
He himself remained standing, indifferent to the
flight of the enemy's shells. But with what terror
he listened to our own, those coming from behind,
from all the hills hard by, whizzing ahead of them
to carry destruction and death. Where would this
one fall? And that one, where would its murderous
rain of bullets and splinters descend?
He was obsessed with the vision of his wife,
wounded, dying, and kept on murmuring her name.
For many days now, ever since the day when he
learnt that Élisabeth had refused to leave the
Château d'Ornequin, he could not think of her with-
out a loving emotion that was never spoilt by any
impulse of revolt, any movement of anger. He no
longer mingled the detestable memories of the past
with the charming reality of his love. When he
thought of the hated mother, the image of the daugh-
ter no longer appeared before his mind. They were
two creatures of a different race, having no connec-
tion one with the other. Élisabeth, full of courage,
risking her life to obey a duty to which she attached
a value greater than her life, acquired in Paul's eyes
a singular dignity. She was indeed the woman whom
he had loved and cherished, the woman whom he loved
still.
Paul stopped. He had ventured with his men into
an open piece of ground, probably marked down in
advance, which the enemy was now peppering with
shrapnel. A number of men were hit.


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN 103
“Halt!” he cried. “Flat on your stomachs, all
of you!"
He caught hold of Bernard:
“Lie down, kid, can't you? Why expose yourself
unnecessarily? ... Stay there. Don't move.”
He held him to the ground with a friendly pres-
sure, keeping his arm round Bernard's neck and
speaking to him with gentleness, as though he were
trying to display to the brother all the affection that
rose to his heart for his dear Élisabeth. He forgot
the harsh words which he had addressed to Bernard
and uttered quite different words, throbbing with a
fondness which he had denied the evening before:
“Don't move, youngster. You see, I had no busi-
ness to bring you with me or to drag you into this
hot place. I'm responsible for you and I'm not going
to have you hurt.”
The fire diminished in intensity. By crawling over
the ground, the men reached a double row of poplars
which led them, by a gentle ascent, towards a ridge
intersected by a hollow road. Paul, on climbing the
slope which overlooked the Ornequin plateau, saw
the ruins of the village in the distance, with its shat-
tered church, and, farther to the left, a wilderness
of trees and stones whence rose the walls of a build-
ing. This was the château. On every side around
were blazing farmhouses, haystacks and barns.
Behind the section, the French troops were scat-
tering forward in all directions. A battery had
taken up its position in the shelter of a wood close


104
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
by and was firing incessantly. Paul could see the
shells bursting over the château and among the
ruins.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, he resumed
his march at the head of his section. The enemy's
guns had ceased thundering, had doubtless been re-
duced to silence. But, when they were well within
two miles of Ornequin, the bullets whistled around
them and Paul saw a detachment of Germans falling
back upon the village, firing as they went. And the
seventy-fives and Rimailhos kept on growling. The
din was terrible.
Paul gripped Bernard by the arm and, in a quiver-
ing voice, said:
“If anything happens to me, tell Élisabeth that I
beg her to forgive me. Do you understand? I beg
her to forgive me.”
He was suddenly afraid that fate would not allow
him to see his wife again; and he realized that he
had behaved to her with unpardonable cruelty, de-
serting her as though she were guilty of a fault which
she had not committed and abandoning her to every
form of distress and torment. And he walked on
briskly, followed at a distance by his men.
But, at the spot where the short cut joins the high
road, in sight of the Liseron, a cyclist rode up to
him. The colonel had ordered that the section should
wait for the main body of the regiment in order to
make an attack in full force.
This was the cruelest test of all. Paul, a victim


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN 105
to ever-increasing excitement, trembled with fever
and rage.
“Come, Paul,” said Bernard, “don't work yourself
into such a state! We shall get there in time.”
“In time for what?” he retorted. “To find her
dead or wounded? Or not to find her at all? Oh,
hang it, why can't our guns stop their damned row?
What are they shelling, now that the enemy's no
longer replying? Dead bodies and demolished
houses ! ..."
“What about the rearguard covering the German
retreat?”
“Well, aren't we here, the infantry? This is our
job. All we have to do is to send out our sharp-
shooters and follow up with a good bayonet-
charge. ..."
At last the section set out again, reinforced by
the remainder of the ninth company and under the
command of the captain. A detachment of hussars
galloped by, pricking towards the village to cut off
the fugitives. The company swerved towards the
château.
Opposite them, all was silent as the grave. Was
it a trap? Was there not every reason to believe that
enemy forces, strongly entrenched and barricaded as
these were, would prepare to offer a last resistance?
And yet there was nothing suspicious in the avenue
of old oaks that led to the front court, not a sign
of life to be seen or heard.
Paul and Bernard, still keeping ahead, with their


106
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
fingers on the trigger of their rifles, searched the
dim light of the underwood with a keen glance. Col-
umns of smoke rose above the wall, which was now
quite near, yawning with breach upon breach. As
they approached, they heard moans, followed by
the heart-rending sound of a death-rattle. It was
the German wounded.
And suddenly the earth shook as though an inner
upheaval had shattered its crust and from the other
side of the wall came a tremendous explosion, or
rather a serious of explosions, like so many peals of
thunder. The air was darkened with a cloud of
sand and dust which sent forth all sorts of stones
and rubbish. The enemy had blown up the château.
“That was meant for us, I expect,” said Bernard.
“We were to have been blown up at the same time.
They were out in their calculations.”
When they had passed the gate, the sight of the
mined court-yard, of the shattered turrets, of the
demolished château, of the out-houses in flames, of
the dying in their last throes and the thickly stacked
corpses of the dead startled them into recoiling.
"Forward! Forward !" shouted the colonel, gallop-
ing up. “There are troops that must have made off
across the park."
Paul knew the road, which he had covered a few
weeks earlier in such tragic circumstances. He
rushed across the lawns, among blocks of stone and
uprooted trees. But, as he passed in sight of a lit-
tle lodge that stood at the entrance to the wood, he


WHAT PAUL SAW AT ORNEQUIN 107.
stopped, nailed to the ground. And Bernard and
all the men stood stupefied, opening their mouths
wide with horror.
Against the lodge, two corpses rested on their
feet, fastened to rings in the wall by a single chain
wound round their waists. Their bodies were bent
over the chains and their arms hung to the ground.
They were the corpses of a man and a woman.
Paul recognized Jérôme and Rosalie. They had been
shot.
The chain continued beyond them. There was a
third ring in the wall. The plaster was stained with
blood and there were visible traces of bullets. There
had been a third victim, without a doubt, and the
body had been removed.
As he approached, Paul noticed a splinter of
bomb-shell embedded in the plaster. Around the hole
thus formed, between the plaster and the splinter,
was a handful of fair hair with golden lights in it,
hair torn from the head of Élisabeth.


CHAPTER VII
H. E. R. M.
Paul's first feeling was an immense need of re-
venge, then and there, at all costs, a need outweigh-
ing any sense of horror or despair. He gazed around
him, as though all the wounded men who lay dying
in the park were guilty of the monstrous crime:
“The cowards!” he snarled. “The murderers!”
“Are you sure,” stammered Bernard, “are you sure
-
Élisabeth's hairiom. They've shot in it's the
“Why, of course I am. They've shot her as they
shot the two others. I know them both: it's the
keeper and his wife. Oh, the blackguards! ..."
He raised the butt of his rifle over a German drag-
ging himself in the grass and was about to strike
him, when the Colonel came up to him:
"Hullo, Delroze, what are you doing? Where's.
your company?”
“Oh, sir, if you only knew! ..."
He rushed up to his colonel. He looked like a
madman and brandished his rifle as he spoke:
“They've killed her, sir, yes, they've shot my wife.
... Look, against the wall there, with the two peo-
ple who were in her service. ... They've shot her.
108


110
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Under the trees, a motor-car had just come from
the frontier, crammed with German soldiers. Was
it bringing reinforcements? No, the motor turned
almost in its own length; and between it and the last
of the combatants stood an officer in a long gray
cloak, who, revolver in hand, exhorted them to per-
severe in their resistance, while he himself effected
his retreat towards the car sent to his rescue.
“Look, Paul,” Bernard repeated, “look!"
Paul was dumfounded. That officer to whom Ber-
nard was calling his attention was . . . but no, it
could not be. And yet ...
“What do you mean to suggest, Bernard?” he
asked.
"It's the same face,” muttered Bernard, “the same
face as yesterday, you know, Paul: the face of the
woman who asked me those questions about you,
Paul."
And Paul on his side recognized beyond the possi-
bility of a doubt the mysterious individual who had
tried to kill him at the little door leading out of the
park, the creature who presented such an unconceiv-
able resemblance to his father's murderess, to the
woman of the portrait, to Hermine d’Andeville,
Élisabeth's mother and Bernard's.
Bernard raised his rifle to fire.
“No, don't do that!” cried Paul, terrified at the
movement.
“Why not?”
“Let's try and take him alive."


H. E. R. M.
111
He darted forward in a mad rush of hatred, but
the officer had run to the car. The German soldiers
held out their hands and hoisted him into their midst.
Paul shot the one who was seated at the wheel. The
officer caught hold of it just as the car was about to
strike a tree, changed the direction and, skilfully
guiding the car past the intervening obstacles, drove
it behind a bend in the ground and from there
towards the frontier. He was saved.
As soon as he was beyond the range of the bullets,
the German soldiers who were still fighting sur-
rendered.
Paul was trembling with impotent fury. To him
this individual represented every imaginable form of
evil; and, from the first to the last minute of that
long series of tragedies, murders, attempts at spying
and assassination, treacheries and deliberate shoot-
ings, all conceived with the same object and the same
spirit, that one figure stood out as the very genius
of crime.
appeased Paul's hatred. It was he, the monster,
Paul never entertained a doubt of it, who had or-
dered Élisabeth to be shot. Élisabeth shot! Oh,
the shame of it! Oh, infernal vision that tormented
him! ....
“Who is he?” he cried. “How can we find out?
How can we get at him and torture him and kill
him?”
“Question a prisoner,” said Bernard.


112 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
The captain considered it wiser to advance no
farther and ordered the company to fall back, so as
to remain in touch with the remainder of the regi-
ment. Paul was told off specially to occupy the
château with his section and to take the prisoners
there.
He lost no time in questioning two or three non-
commissioned officers and some of the soldiers, as
they went. But he could obtain nothing but a mass
of conflicting particulars from them, for they had
arrived from Corvigny the day before and had only
spent the night at the château. They did not even
know the name of the officer in the flowing gray cloak
for whom so many of them had sacrificed their lives.
He was called the major; and that was all.
“But still,” Paul insisted, "he was your actual
commanding officer?"
"No. The leader of the rearguard detachment
to which we belong is an Oberleutnant who was
wounded by the exploding of the mines, when we ran
away. We wanted to take him with us, but the
major objected, leveling his revolver at us, telling
us to march in front of him and threatening to shoot
the first man who left him in the lurch. And just
now, while we were fighting, he stood ten paces be-
hind us and kept threatening us with his revolver
to compel us to defend him. He shot three of us,
as a matter of fact.”
“He was reckoning on the assistance of the car,
wasn't he?"


H. E. R. M.
118
“Yes; and also on reinforcements which were to
save us all, so he said. But only the car came; and
it just saved him."
“The Oberleutnant would know his name, of
course. Is he badly wounded?”
"He's got a broken leg. We made him comfort-
able in a lodge in the park.”
“The lodge against which your people put to
death ... those civilians ?”
“Yes."
They were nearing the lodge, a sort of little
orangery into which the plants were taken in winter.
Rosalie and Jérôme's bodies had been removed. But
the sinister chain was still hanging on the wall,
fastened to the three iron rings; and Paul once more
beheld, with a shudder of dread, the marks left by
the bullet and the little splinter of bomb-shell that
kept Élisabeth's hair embedded in the plaster.
A French bomb-shell! An added horror to the
atrocity of the murder!
It was therefore Paul who, on the day before, by
capturing the armored motor-car and effecting his
daring raid on Corvigny, thus opening the road to
the French troops, had brought about the events
that ended in his wife's being murdered! The enemy
had revenged himself for his retreat by shooting the
inhabitants of the château! Élisabeth fastened to
the wall by a chain had been riddled with bullets.
And, by a hideous irony, her corpse had received in
addition the splinters of the first shells which the


114
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
French guns had fired before night-fall, from the top
of the hills near Corvigny.
Paul pulled out the fragments of shell and removed
the golden strands, which he put away religiously.
He and Bernard then entered the lodge, where the
Red Cross men had established a temporary ambu-
lance. They found the Oberleutnant lying on a truss
of straw, well looked after and able to answer ques-
tions.
One point at once became quite clear, which was
that the German troops which had garrisoned the
Château d'Ornequin had, so to speak, never been in
touch at all with those which, the day before, had
retreated from Corvigny and the adjoining forts.
The garrison had been evacuated immediately upon
the arrival of the fighting troops, as though to avoid
any indiscretion on the subject of what had happened
during the occupation of the château.
“At that moment,” said the Oberleutnant, who be-
longed to the fighting force, not to the garrison, “it
was seven o'clock in the evening. Your seventy-fives
had already got the range of the château; and we
found no one there but a number of generals and
other officers of superior rank. Their baggage-
wagons were leaving and their motors were ready to
leave. I was ordered to hold out as long as I could
to blow up the château. The major had made all the
arrangements beforehand.”
“What was the major's name?”
“I don't know. He was walking about with a


H. E. R. M.
115
young officer whom even the generals addressed with
respect. This same officer called me over to him
and charged me to obey the major 'as I would the
emperor.'”
“And who was the young officer?”
“Prince Conrad.”
“A son of the Kaiser's?”
“Yes. He left the château yesterday, late in the
day.”
.
“And did the major spend the night here?”
“I suppose so; at any rate, he was there this
morning. We fired the mines and left ... a bit
late, for I was wounded near this lodge . . . near
the wall. . . ."
Paul mastered his emotion and said:
“You mean, the wall against which your people
shot three French civilians, don't you?”
“Yes."
“When were they shot?”
“About six o'clock in the afternoon, I believe, be-
fore we arrived from Corvigny."
“Who ordered them to be shot?”
“The major.”
Paul felt the perspiration trickling from the top
of his head down his neck and forehead. It was as
he thought: Élisabeth had been shot by the orders
of that nameless and more than mysterious individual
whose face was the very image of the face of Hermine
d'Andeville, Élisabeth's mother!
He went on, in a trembling voice:


116 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“So there were three people shot? You're quite
sure?"
“Yes, the people of the château. They had been
guilty of treachery.”
“A man and two women?”
“Yes."
“But there were only two bodies fastened to the
wall of the lodge.”
“Yes, only two. The major had the lady of the
house buried by Prince Conrad's orders.”
“Where?”
“He didn't tell me."
“But why was she shot?”
“I understand that she had got hold of some very
important secrets."
“They could have taken her away and kept her
as a prisoner.”
“Certainly, but Prince Conrad was tired of her.”
Paul gave a start:
“What's that you say?"
The officer resumed, with a smile that might mean
anything:
“Well, damn it all, everybody knows Prince Con-
rad! He's the Don Juan of the family. He'd been
staying at the château for some weeks and had time
to make an impression, had he not? ... And then
... and then to get tired. . . . Besides, the major
maintained that the woman and her two servants
had tried to poison the prince. So you see ..."
He did not finish his sentence. Paul was bending


118
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“We shall avenge her, Paul,” said Bernard, in a
low voice.
"We shall; but shall I ever forget that it was on
my account, through my fault, that she stayed here?
I will explain what I mean later on; and you will
And yet ...»
He stood gloomily thinking. He was haunted by
the image of the major and he repeated :
“And yet . . . and yet ... there are things that
seem so strange. ...”
All that afternoon, French troops kept streaming
in through the valley of the Liseron and the village
of Ornequin in order to resist any counter-attack by
the enemy. Paul's section was resting; and he and
Bernard took advantage of this to make a minute
search in the park and among the ruins of the
château. But there was no clue to reveal to them
where Élisabeth's body lay hidden.
At five o'clock, they gave Rosalie and Jérôme a
decent burial. Two crosses were set up on a little
mound strewn with flowers. An army chaplain came
and said the prayers for the dead. And Paul was
moved to tears when he knelt on the grave of those
two faithful servants whose devotion had been their
undoing.
Then also Paul promised to avenge. And his long-
ing for vengeance evoked in his mind, with almost
painful intensity, the hated image of the major, that


H. E. R. M.
119
image which had now become inseparable from his
recollections of the Comtesse d’Andeville.
He led Bernard away from the grave and asked:
"Are you sure that you were not mistaken in con-
necting the major and the supposed peasant-woman
who questioned you at Corvigny?”
“Absolutely."
“Then come with me. I told you of a woman's
portrait. We will go and look at it and you shall
tell me what impression it makes upon you."
Paul had noticed that that part of the castle which
contained Hermine d’Andeville's bedroom and
boudoir had not been entirely demolished by the
explosion of either the mines or shells. It was pos-
sible that the boudoir was still in its former condi-
tion.
The staircase had been destroyed; and they had
to clamber up the shattered masonry in order to
reach the first floor. Traces of the corridor were
visible here and there. All the doors were gone; and
the rooms presented an appearance of pitiful chaos.
“It's here," said Paul, pointing to an open place
between two pieces of wall that remained standing
as by a miracle.
It was indeed Hermine d’Andeville's boudoir, shat-
tered and dilapidated, cracked from top to bottom
and filled with plaster and rubbish, but quite recog-
nizable and containing all the furniture which Paul
had noticed on the evening of his marriage. The
window-shutters darkened the room partly, but there


120
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
was enough light for Paul to see the whereabouts of
the wall opposite. And he at once exclaimed:
“The portrait has been taken away!”
It was a great disappointment to him and, at the
same time, a proof of the great importance which
his enemy attached to the portrait, which could only
have been removed because it constituted an over-
whelming piece of evidence.
“I assure you," said Bernard, “that this does not
affect my opinion in the least. There was no need
to verify my conviction about the major and that
peasant-woman at Corvigny. Whose portrait was
it?"
“I told you, a woman.”
“What woman? Was it a picture which my father
hung there, one of the pictures of his collection?”
“That was it,” said Paul, welcoming the oppor-
tunity of throwing his brother-in-law off the scent.
Opening one of the shutters, he saw a mark on
the wall of the rectangular space which the picture
used to occupy; and he was able to perceive, from
certain details, that the removal had been effected in
a hurry. For instance, the gilt scroll had dropped
from the frame and was lying on the floor. Paul
picked it up stealthily so that Bernard should not
see the inscription engraved upon it.
But, while he was examining the panel more at-
tentively after Bernard had unfastened the other
shutter, he gave an exclamation.
“What's the matter?” asked Bernard.


H. E. R. M.
121
“There ... look . .. that signature on the wall
... where the picture was: a signature and a date.”
It was written in pencil; two lines across the white
plaster, at a man's height The date, “Wednesday
evening, 16 September, 1914,” followed by the signa-
ture: “Major Hermann.”
Major Hermann! Even before Paul was aware of
it, his eyes had seized upon a detail in which all the
significance of those two lines of writing was con-
centrated; and, while Bernard came forward to look
in his turn, he muttered, in boundless surprise:
“Hermann! ... Hermine! ..."
The two words were almost alike. Hermine began
with the same letters as the Christian or surname
which the major had written, after his rank, on the
wall. Major Hermann! The Comtesse Hermine!
H, E, R, M: The four letters on the dagger with
which Paul had nearly been killed! H, E, R, M: the
four letters on the dagger of the spy whom he had
captured in the church-steeple!
Bernard said:
“It looks to me like a woman's writing. But, if
so....” And he continued thoughtfully, "If so
... what conclusion are we to draw? Either the
peasant-woman and Major Hermann are one and
the same person, which means that the peasant-
woman is a man or that the major is not, or else we
are dealing with two distinct persons, a woman and
a man. I believe that is how it is, in spite of the
uncanny resemblance between that man and that


122
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
woman. For, after all, how can we suppose that the
same person can have written this signature yester-
day evening, passed through the French lines and
spoken to me at Corvigny disguised as a peasant-
woman ... and then be able to return here, dis-
guised as a German major, blow up the house, take to
flight and, after killing some of his own soldiers,
make his escape in a motor-car?”
Paul, absorbed by his thoughts, did not answer.
Presently he went into the adjoining room, which
separated the boudoir from the set of rooms which
his wife had occupied. Of these nothing remained
except debris. But the room in between had not suf-
fered so very much; and it was very easy to see, by
the wash-hand-stand and the condition of the bed,
that it was used as a bedroom and that some one
had slept in it the night before.
On the table Paul found some German newspapers
and a French one, dated 10 September, in which the
communiqué telling of the great victory of the Marne
was struck out with two great dashes in red pencil
and annotated with the word “Lies!” followed by the
initial H.
“We're in Major Hermann's room right enough,"
said Paul to Bernard.
“And Major Hermann,” Bernard declared, “burnt
some compromising papers last night. Look at that
heap of ashes in the fire-place.” He stooped and
picked up a few envelopes, a few half-burnt sheets of
paper containing consecutive words, nothing but in-


H. E. R. M.
123
coherent sentences. On turning his eyes to the bed,
however, he saw under the bolster a parcel of clothes
hidden or perhaps forgotten in the hurry of depar-
ture. He pulled them out and at once cried: “I
say, just look at this !"
“At what?" asked Paul, who was searching another
part of the room.
“These clothes, look, peasant clothes, the clothes
I saw on the woman at Corvigny. There's no mis-
taking them: they are the same brown color and the
same sort of serge stuff. And then here's the black-
lace scarf which I told you about. ..."
“What's that?" exclaimed Paul, running up to him.
“Here, see for yourself, it's a scarf of sorts and
not one of the newest, either. How worn and torn
it is! And the brooch I described to you is still in
it. Do you see?”
Paul had noticed the brooch at once with the great-
est horror. What a terrible significance it lent to
the discovery of the clothes in the room occupied by
Major Hermann, the room next to Hermine d’Ande-
ville's boudoir! · The cameo was carved with a swan
with its wings outspread and was set in a gold snake
with ruby eyes. Paul had known that cameo since
his early boyhood, from seeing it in the dress of the
woman who killed his father, and he knew it also
because he had seen it again, with every smallest de-
tail reproduced, in the Comtesse Hermine's portrait.
And now he was finding the actual brooch, stuck in
the black-lace scarf among the Corvigny peasant-


124
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
woman's clothes and left behind in Major Hermann's
room!
“This completes the evidence," said Bernard.
“The fact that the clothes are here proves that the
woman who asked me about you came back here
last night; but what is the connection between her
and that officer who is her living likeness? Is the per-
son who questioned me about you the same as the
individual who ordered Élisabeth to be shot two hours
earlier? And who are these people? What band of
murderers and spies have we run up against?"
“They are simply Germans," was Paul's reply.
“To them spying and murdering are natural and
permissible forms of warfare ... in a war, mark
you, which they began and are carrying on in the
midst of a perfectly peaceful period. I have told
you so before, Bernard: we have been the victims of
war for nearly twenty years. My father's murder
opened the tragedy. And to-day we are mourning
our poor Élisabeth. And that is not the end of it.”
“Still,” said Bernard, “he has taken to flight.”
“We shall see him again, be sure of that. If he
doesn't come back, I will go and find him. And, when
that day comes. ..."
There were two easy-chairs in the room. Paul
and Bernard resolved to spend the night there and,
without further delay, wrote their names on the wall
of the passage. Then Paul went back to his men,
in order to see that they were comfortably settled
in the barns and out-houses that remained standing.


H. E. R. M.
125
Here the soldier who served as his orderly, a decent
Auvergnat called Gériflour, told him that he had dug
out two pairs of sheets and a couple of clean mat-
tresses from a little house next to the guard-room
and that the beds were ready. Paul accepted the
offer for Bernard and himself. It was arranged that
Gériflour and one of his companions should go to
the château and sleep in the two easy-chairs.
The night passed without any alarm. It was a
feverish and sleepless night for Paul, who was
haunted by the thought of Elisabeth. In the morn-
ing he fell into a heavy slumber, disturbed by night-
mares. The reveille woke him with a start. Bernard
was waiting for him.
The roll was called in the courtyard of the
château. Paul noticed that his orderly, Gériflour,
and the other man were missing.
“They must be asleep,” he said to Bernard. “Let's
go and shake them awake.”
They went back, through the ruins, to the first
floor and along the demolished bedroom. In the room
which Major Hermann had occupied they found Pri-
vate Gériflour, huddled on the bed, covered with
blood, dead. His friend was lying back in one of the
chairs, also dead. There was no disorder, no trace
of a struggle around the bodies. The two soldiers
must have been killed in their sleep.
Paul at once saw the weapon with which they had
been murdered. It was a dagger with the letters
H, E, R, M. on the handle.


CHAPTER VITI
ÉLISABETH'S DIARY
This double murder, following upon a series of
tragic incidents all of which were closely connected,
was the climax to such an accumulation of horrors
and of shocking disasters that the two young men
did not utter a word or stir a limb. Death, whose
breath they had already felt so often on the battle
field, had never appeared to them under a more hate-
ful or forbidding guise.
Death! They beheld it, not as an insidious disease
that strikes at hazard, but as a specter creeping in
the shadow, watching its adversary, choosing its mo-
ment and raising its arm with deliberate intention.
And this specter bore for them the very shape and
features of Major Hermann.
When Paul spoke at last, his voice had the dull,
scared tone that seems to summon up the evil powers
of darkness :
"He came last night. He came and, as we had
written our names on the wall, the names of Bernard
d'Andeville and Paul Delroze which represent the
names of two enemies in his eyes, he took the oppor-
tunity to.rid himself of those two enemies. Per-
126


ELISABETH'S DIARY
127
suaded that it was you and I who were sleeping in
this room, he struck ... and those whom he struck
were poor Gériflour and his friend, who have died in
our stead.”
After a long pause, he whispered:
“They have died as my father died ... and as
Élisabeth died . . . and the keeper also and his wife;
and by the same hand, by the same hand, Bernard,
do you understand? ... Yes, it's inadmissible, is it
not? My brain refuses to admit it. . . . And yet it
is always the same hand that holds the dagger ...
then and now.”
Bernard examined the dagger. At the sight of
the four letters, he said:
“That stands for Hermann, I suppose? Major
Hermann?”
“Yes," said Paul, eagerly. "Is it his real name,
though? And who is he actually? I don't know.
But what I do know is that the criminal who com-
mitted all those murders is the same who signs with
these four letters, H, E, R, M.”
After giving the alarm to the men of his section
and sending to inform the chaplain and the surgeons,
Paul resolved to ask for a private interview with his
colonel and to tell him the whole of the secret story,
hoping that it might throw some light on the execu-
tion of Élisabeth and the assassination of the two
soldiers. But he learnt that the colonel and his regi-
ment were fighting on the other side of the frontier
and that the 3rd Company had been hurriedly sent


128
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
for, all but a detachment which was to remain at the
château under Sergeant Delroze's orders. Paul
therefore made his own investigation with his men.
It yielded nothing. There was no possibility of
discovering the least clue to the manner in which
the murderer had made his way first into the park,
next into the ruins and lastly into the bedroom. As
no civilian had passed, were they to conclude that
the perpetrator of the two crimes was one of the pri-
vates of the 3rd company? Obviously not. And yet
what other theory was there to adopt?
Nor did Paul discover anything to tell him of his
wife's death or of the place where she was buried.
And this was the hardest trial of all.
He encountered the same ignorance among the
German wounded as among the prisoners. They had
all heard of the execution of a man and two women,
but they had all arrived after the execution and after
the departure of the troops that occupied the châ-
teau.
He went on to the village, thinking that they might
know something there; that the inhabitants had some
news to tell of the lady of the château, of the life she
led, of her martyrdom and death. But Ornequin was
empty, with not a woman even, not an old man left
in it. The enemy must have sent all the inhabitants
into Germany, doubtless from the start, with the
manifest object of destroying every witness to his
actions during the occupation and of creating a
desert around the château.


ÉLISABETH'S DIARY
129
Paul in this way devoted three days to the pur-
suit of fruitless inquiries.
“And yet,” he said to Bernard, “Élisabeth cannot
have disappeared entirely. Even if I cannot find her
grave, can I not find the least trace of her existence?
She lived here. She suffered here. I would give any-
thing for a relic of her.”
They had succeeded in fixing upon the exact site
of the room in which she used to sleep and even, in
the midst of the ruins, the exact heap of stones and
plaster that remained of it. It was all mixed up with
the wreckage of the ground floor rooms, into which
the first-floor ceilings had been precipitated; and
it was in this chaos, under the pile of walls and furni-
ture reduced to dust and fragments, that one morn-
ing he picked up a little broken mirror, followed by a
tortoise-shell hair-brush, a silver pen-knife and a set
of scissors, all of which had belonged to Élisabeth.
But what affected him even more was the discovery
of a thick diary, in which he knew that his wife, be-
fore her marriage, used to note down her expenses,
the errands or visits that had to be remembered and,
occasionally, some more private details of her life.
Now all that was left of her diary was the binding,
with the date, 1914, and the part containing the
entries for the first seven months of the year. All
the sheets for the last five months had been not torn
out but removed separately from the strings that
fastened them to the binding.
Paul at once thought to himself:
hoved se binding imself:


130
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“They were removed by Élisabeth, removed at her
leisure, at a time when there was no hurry and when
she merely wished to use those pages for writing on
from day to day. What would she want to write?
Just those more personal notes which she used for-
merly to put down in her diary between the entry of
a disbursement and a receipt. And as there can have
been no accounts to keep since my departure and as
her existence was nothing but a hideous tragedy,
there is no doubt that she confided her distress to
those pages, her complaints, possibly her shrinking
from me.”
That day, in Bernard's absence, Paul increased
the thoroughness of his search. He rummaged under
every stone and in every hole. The broken slabs of
marble, the twisted lustres, the torn carpets, the
beams blackened by the flames, he lifted them all. He
persisted for hours. He divided the ruins into sec-
tions which he examined patiently in rotation; and,
when the ruins refused to answer his questions, he
renewed his minute investigations in the ground.
His efforts were useless; and Paul knew that they
were bound to be so. Élisabeth must have attached
far too much value to those pages not to have either
destroyed them or hidden them beyond the possi-
bility of discovery. Unless :
"Unless,” he said to himself, “they have been stolen
from her. The major must have kept a constant
watch upon her. And, in that case, who knows?"
An idea occurred to Paul's mind. After finding


ÉLISABETH'S DIARY
131
the peasant-woman's clothes and black lace scarf, he
had left them on the bed, attaching no further im-
portance to them; and he now asked himself if the
major, on the night when he had murdered the two
soldiers, had not come with the intention of fetching
away the clothes, or at least the contents of their
pockets, which he had not been able to do because
they were hidden under Private Gériflour, who was
sleeping on the top of them. Now Paul seemed to
remember that, when unfolding that peasant's skirt
and bodice, he had noticed a rustling of paper in
one of the pockets. Was it not reasonable to con-
clude that this was Élisabeth's diary, which had been
discovered and stolen by Major Hermann?
Paul hastened to the room in which the murders
had been committed, snatched up the clothes and
looked through them:
"Ah,” he at once exclaimed, with genuine delight,
“here they are !"
There was a large, yellow envelope filled with the
pages removed from the diary. These were crumpled
and here and there torn; and Paul saw at a glance
that the pages corresponded only with the months of
August and September and that even some days in
each of these months were missing.
And he saw Élisabeth's handwriting.
It was not a full or detailed diary. It consisted
merely of notes, poor little notes in which a bruised
heart found an outlet. At times, when they ran to
greater length, an extra page had been added. The


132
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
notes had been jotted down by day or night, anyhow,
in ink and pencil; they were sometimes hardly legi-
ble; and they gave the impression of a trembling
hand, of eyes veiled with tears and of a mind crazed
with suffering.
Paul was moved to the very depths of his being.
He was alone and he read:
"Sunday, 2 August.
"He ought not to have written me that letter. It
is too cruel. And why does he suggest that I should
leave Ornequin? The war? Does he think that, be-
cause there is a chance of war, I shall not have the
courage to stay here and do my duty? How little
he knows me! Then he must either think me a cow-
ard or believe me capable of suspecting my poor
mother! ... Paul, dear Paul, you ought not to
have left me.....
"Monday, 3 August.
“Jérôme and Rosalie have been kinder and more
thoughtful than ever, now that the servants are gone.
Rosalie begged and prayed that I should go away,
too.
“ 'And what about yourselves, Rosalie?" I said.
'Will you go?
“ 'Oh, we're people who don't matter, we have
nothing to fear! Besides, our place is here.'
“I said that so was mine; but I saw that she could
not understand.


ELISABETH'S DIARY
133
“Jérôme, when I meet him, shakes his head and
looks at me sadly.
"Tuesday, 4 August.
“I have not the least doubt of what my duty is. I
would rather die than turn my back on it. But
how am I to fulfil that duty and get at the truth?
I am full of courage; and yet I am always crying, as
though I had nothing better to do. The fact is that
I am always thinking of Paul. Where is he? What
has become of him? When Jérôme told me this morn-
ing that war was declared, I thought that I should
faint. So Paul is going to fight. He will be wounded
perhaps. He may be killed. God knows if my true
place is not somewhere near him, in a town close to
where he is fighting! What have I to hope for in
staying here? My duty to my mother, yes, I know.
Ah, mother, I beseech your forgiveness . .. but,
you see, I love my husband and I am so afraid of
anything happening to him!...
“Thursday, 6 August.
“Still crying. I grow unhappier every day. But
I feel that, even if I became still more so, I would not
desist. Besides, how can I go to him when he does
not want to have anything more to do with me and
does not even write? Love me? Why, he loathes me!
I am the daughter of a woman whom he hates above
all things in the world. How unspeakably horrible!
If he thinks like that of my mother and if I fail in


134 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
my task, we shall never see each other again! That
is the life I have before me.
"Friday, 17 August.
“I have made Jérôme and Rosalie tell me all about
mother. They only knew her for a few weeks, but
they remember her quite well; and what they said
made me feel so happy! She was so good, it seems,
and so pretty; everybody worshiped her.
" "She was not always very cheerful,' said Rosalie.
'I don't know if it was her illness already affecting
her spirits, but there was something about her, when
she smiled, that went to one's heart.'
“My poor, darling mother!
"Saturday, 8 August.
“We heard the guns this morning, a long way off.
They are fighting 25 miles away.
“Some French soldiers have arrived. I had seen
some of them pretty often from the terrace, march-
ing down the Liseron Valley. But these are going
to stay at the house. The captain made his apolo-
gies. So as not to inconvenience me, he and his lieu-
tenants will sleep and have their meals in the lodge
where Jérôme and Rosalie used to live.
“Sunday, 9 August.
“Still no news of Paul. I have given up trying to
write to him either. I don't want him to hear from
me until I have all the proofs. But what am I to do?


ÉLISABETH'S DIARY
135
How can I get proofs of something that happened
seventeen years ago? Hunt about, think and reflect
as I may, I can find nothing.
"Monday, 10 August.
“The guns never ceased booming in the distance.
Nevertheless, the captain tells me that there is noth-
ing to make one expect an attack by the enemy on
this side.
“Tuesday, 11 August.
“A sentry posted in the woods, near the little door
leading out of the estate, has just been killed-
stabbed with a knife. They think that he must have
been trying to stop a man who wanted to get out of
the park. But how did the man get in?
“Wednesday, 12 August.
“What can be happening? Here is something that
has made a great impression on me and seems im-
possible to understand. There are other things be-
sides which are just as perplexing, though I can't
say why. I am much astonished that the captain
and all his soldiers whom I meet appear so indifferent
and should even be able to make jokes among them-
selves. I feel the sort of depression that comes over
one when a storm is at hand. There must be some-
thing wrong with my nerves.
“Well, this morning. ..."


136
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Paul stopped reading. The lower portion of
the page containing the last few lines and the
whole of the next page were torn out. It looked
as if the major, after stealing Élisabeth's diary,
had, for reasons best known to himself, removed
the pages in which she set forth a certain inci-
dent.
The diary continued :
"Friday, 14 August.
“I felt I must tell the captain. I took him to the
dead tree covered with ivy and asked him to lie down
on the ground and listen. He did so very patiently
and attentively. But he heard nothing and ended
by saying:
“ 'You see, madame, that everything is absolutely
normal.'
“ 'I assure you,' I answered, “that two days
ago there was a confused sound from this tree,
just at this spot. And it lasted for several
minutes.'
"He replied, smiling as he spoke:
“We could easily have the tree cut down. But
don't you think, madame, that in the state of nervous
tension in which we all are we are liable to make
mistakes; that we are subject to hallucinations? For,
after all, where could the sound come from?'
“Of course, he was right. And yet I had heard
and seen for myself. ...


ÉLISABETH'S DIARY
137
"Saturday, 15 August.
“Yesterday, two German officers were brought in
and were locked up in the wash-house, at the end of
the yard. This morning, there was nothing in the
wash-house but their uniforms. One can understand
their breaking open the door. But the captain has
found out that they made their escape in French
uniforms and that they passed the sentries, saying
that they had been sent to Corvigny.
“Who can have supplied them with those uni-
forms? Besides, they had to know the password:
who can have given them that?
"It appears that a peasant woman called several
days in succession with eggs and milk, a woman
rather too well-dressed for her station, and that she
hasn't been here to-day. But there is nothing to
prove her complicity.
"Sunday, 16 August.
“The captain has been strongly urging me to go
away. He is no longer cheerful. He seems very
much preoccupied:
“We are surrounded by spies,” he said. “And
there is every sign of the possibility of a speedy at-
tack. Not a big attack, intended to force a way
through to Corvigny, but an attempt to take the
château by surprise. It is my duty to warn you,
madame, that we may be compelled at any moment
to fall back on Corvigny and that it would be most
imprudent for you to stay.'


198
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“I answered that nothing would change my reso-
lution. Jérôme and Rosalie also implored me to
leave. But what is the good? I intend to remain.”
Once again Paul stopped. There was a page miss-
ing in this section of the diary; and the next page,
the one headed 18 August, was torn at the top and
the bottom and contained only a fragment of what
“... and that is why I have not spoken of it in
the letter which I have just sent to Paul. He will
know that I am staying on and the reasons for my
decision; but he must not know of my hopes.
“Those hopes are still so vague and built on so in-
significant a detail. Still, I feel overjoyed. I do
not realize the meaning of that detail, but I feel its
importance. The captain is hurrying about, in-
creasing the patrols; the soldiers are polishing their
arms and crying out for the battle; the enemy may
be taking up his quarters at Èbrecourt, as they say:
what do I care? I have only one thought: have I
found the key? Am I on the right road? Let me
think. ..."
The page was torn here, at the place where Élisa-
beth was about to explain things exactly. Was this
a precautionary measure on Major Hermann's part?
No doubt; but why?
The first part of the page headed 19 August was
likewise torn. The nineteenth was the day before


ÉLISABETH'S DIARY 139
that on which the Germans had carried Ornequin,
Corvigny and the whole district by assault. What
had Élisabeth written on that Wednesday after-
noon? What had she discovered? What was pre-
paring in the darkness?
Paul felt a dread at his heart. He remembered
that the first gunshot had thundered over Corvigny
at two o'clock in the morning on Thursday and it
was with an anxious mind that he read, on the second
half of the page:
"11 p. m.
“I have got up and opened my window. Dogs are
barking on every side. They answer one another,
stop, seem to be listening and then begin howling
again as I have never heard them do before. When
they cease, the silence becomes impressive and I listen
in my turn to try and catch the indistinct sounds
that keep them awake.
“Those sounds seem to my ears also to exist. It
is something different from the rustling of the leaves.
It has nothing to do with the ordinary interruption
to the dead silence of the night. It comes from I
can't tell where; and the impression it makes on me
is so powerful that I ask myself at the same time
whether I am just listening to the beating of my
heart or whether I am hearing what might be the
distant tramp of a marching army.
"Oh, I must be mad! A marching army! And
our outposts on the frontier? And our sentries all


140
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
around the château? Why, there would be fighting,
firing! ...
“1 a. m.
“I did not stir from the window. The dogs were
no longer barking. Everything was asleep. And
suddenly I saw some one come from under the trees
and go across the lawn. I at first imagined it was
one of our soldiers. But, when whoever it was passed
under my window, there was just enough light in the
sky for me to make out a woman's figure. I thought
for a moment of Rosalie. But no, the figure was
taller and moved with a lighter and quicker step.
"I was on the point of waking Jérôme and giving
the alarm. I did not, however. The figure had dis-
appeared in the direction of the terrace. And all at
once there came the cry of a bird, which struck me
as strange. This was followed by a light that darted
into the sky, like a shooting star springing from the
ground.
“After that, nothing. Silence, general restfulness.
Nothing more. And yet I dare not go back to bed.
I am frightened, without knowing why. All sorts of
dangers seem to come rushing from every corner of
the horizon. They draw closer, they surround me,
they hem me in, they suffocate me, crush me, I can't
breathe. I'm frightened ... I'm frightened. ..."


CHAPTER IX
A SPRIG OF EMPIRE
PAUL clutched with convulsive fingers the heart-
breaking diary to which Élisabeth had confided her
anguish:
“The poor angel!” he thought. “What she must
have gone through! And this is only the beginning
of the road that led to her death. ..."
He dreaded reading on. The hours of torture
were near at hand, menacing and implacable, and he
would have liked to call out to Élisabeth:
“Go away, go away! Don't defy Fate! I have
forgotten the past. I love you."
It was too late. He himself, through his cruelty,
had condemned her to suffer; and he must go on to
the bitter end and witness every station of the Cal-
vary of which he knew the last, terrifying stage.
He hastily turned the pages. There were first
three blank leaves, those dated 20, 21 and 22 August:
days of confusion during which she had been unable
to write. The pages of the 23rd and 24th were miss-
ing. These no doubt recounted what had happened
and contained revelations concerning the inexpli-
cable invasion.
141


142
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
The diary began again at the middle of a torn
page, the page belonging to Tuesday the 25th:
“'Yes, Rosalie, I feel quite well and I thank you
for looking after me so attentively.'
“ "Then there's no more fever?'
“ 'No, Rosalie, it's gone.'
“ “You said the same thing yesterday, ma'am, and
the fever came back . . . perhaps because of that
visit. ... But the visit won't be to-day ... it's
not till to-morrow. ... I was told to let you know,
ma'am. ... At 5 o'clock to-morrow. ..!
"I made no answer. What is the use of rebelling?
None of the humiliating words that I shall have to
hear will hurt me more than what lies before my
eyes: the lawn invaded, horses picketed all over it,
baggage wagons and caissons in the walks, half the
trees felled, officers sprawling on the grass, drinking
and singing, and a German flag flapping from the
balcony of my window, just in front of me. Oh, the
wretches!
“I close my eyes so as not to see. And that makes
it more horrible still. ... Oh, the memory of that
night ... and, in the morning, when the sun rose,
the sight of all those dead bodies! Some of the poor
fellows were still alive, with those monsters dancing
round them; and I could hear the cries of the dying
men asking to be put out of their misery
“And then. ... But I won't think of it or think
of anything that can destroy my courage and my
hope. ...


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE
143
“Paul, I always have you in my mind as I write
my diary. Something tells me that you will read it
if anything happens to me; and so I must have
strength to go on with it and to keep you informed
from day to day. Perhaps you can already under-
stand from my story what to me still seems very ob-
scure. What is the connection between the past and
the present, between the murder of long ago and the
incomprehensible attack of the other night? I don't
know. I have told you the facts in detail and also
my theories. You will draw your conclusions and
follow up the truth to the end.
“Wednesday, 26 August.
“There is a great deal of noise in the château.
People are moving about everywhere, especially in
the rooms above my bedroom. An hour ago, half a
dozen motor vans and the same number of motor cars
drove onto the lawn. The vans were empty. Two
or three ladies sprang out of each of the cars, Ger-
man women, waving their hands and laughing noisily.
The officers ran up to welcome them; and there were
loud expressions of delight. Then they all went to
the house. What do they want?
“But I hear footsteps in the passage. ... It is
5 o'clock. ... Somebody is knocking at the
door. ...
“There were five of them: he first and four officers
who kept bowing to him obsequiously. He said to
them, in a formal tone:


144
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“ 'Attention, gentlemen. ... I order you not
to touch anything in this room or in the other rooms
reserved for madame. As for the rest, except in the
two big drawing-rooms, it is yours. Keep anything
here that you want and take away what you please.
It is war and the law of war.'
"He pronounced those words, “The law of war,' in
a tone of fatuous conviction and repeated :
“As for madame's private apartments, not a
thing is to be moved. Do you understand? I know
what is becoming.'
“He looked at me as though to say:
“ 'What do you think of that? There's chivalry
for you! I could take it all, if I liked; but I'm a
German and, as such, I know what's becoming.'
“He seemed to expect me to thank him. I said:
“ 'Is this the pillage beginning? That explains
the empty motor vans.'
“ 'You don't pillage what belongs to you by the
law of war,' he answered.
“'I see. And the law of war does not extend to
the furniture and pictures in the drawing-rooms ?'
“He turned crimson. Then I began to laugh:
“ 'I follow you,' I said. “That's your share. Well
chosen. Nothing but rare and valuable things. The
refuse your servants can divide among them.'
“The officers turned round furiously. He became
redder still. He had a face that was quite round,
hair, which was too light, plastered down with grease
and divided in the middle by a faultless parting. His


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE
145
forehead was low; and I was able to guess the ef-
fort going on behind it, to find a repartee. At last
he came up to me and, in a voice of triumph,
said:
“ 'The French have been beaten at Charleroi,
beaten at Morange, beaten everywhere. They are re-
treating all along the line. The upshot of the war is
settled.
“Violent though my grief was, I did not wince.
I whispered:
“ You low blackguard !
“He staggered. His companions caught what I
said; and I saw one put his hand on his sword-
hilt. But what would he himself do? What would
he say? I could feel that he was greatly embar-
rassed and that I had wounded his self-esteem.
“ 'Madame,' he said, 'I daresay you don't know
who I am?
“ 'Oh, yes! I answered. “You are Prince Conrad,
a son of the Kaiser's. And what then?
"He made a fresh attempt at dignity. He drew
himself up. I expected threats and words to ex-
press his anger; but no, his reply was a burst of
laughter, the affected laughter of a high and mighty
lord, too indifferent, too disdainful to take offense,
too intelligent to lose his temper.
“ “The dear little Frenchwoman! Isn't she charm-
ing, gentlemen? Did you hear what she said? The
impertinence of her! There's your true Parisian,
gentlemen, with all her roguish grace.'
and that I'm feel that hself dopº


146
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“And, making me a great bow, with not another
word, he stalked away, joking as he went:
“ 'Such a dear little Frenchwoman! Ah, gentle-
men, those little Frenchwomen! ...!
“The vans were at work all day, going off to the
frontier laden with booty. It was my poor father's
wedding present to us, all his collections so patiently
and fondly brought together; it was the dear setting
in which Paul and I were to have lived. What a
wrench the parting means to me!
“The war news is bad! I cried a great deal dur-
ing the day.
“Prince Conrad came. I had to receive him, for he
sent me word by Rosalie that, if I refused to see him,
the inhabitants of Ornequin would suffer the conse-
quences."
Here Élisabeth again broke off her diary. Two
days later, on the 29th, she went on:
“He came yesterday. To-day also. He tries to
appear witty and cultured. He talks literature and
music, Goethe, Wagner and so on. ... I leave him
to do his own talking, however; and this throws him
in such a state of fury that he ended by exclaiming:
“ 'Can't you answer? It's no disgrace, even for a
Frenchwoman, to talk to Prince Conrad of Prussia !
“A woman doesn't talk to her gaoler.'
“He protested briskly:


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE 147
“ “But, dash it all, you're not in prison !
“ 'Can I leave the château?'
“ 'You can walk about ... in the grounds. ...
“ 'Between four walls, therefore, like a prisoner.'
“'Well, what do you want to do?'
“ 'To go away from here and live ... wherever
you tell me to: at Corvigny, for instance.'
“ “That is to say, away from me!
“As I did not answer, he bent forward a little and
continued, in a low voice:
“ 'You hate me, don't you? Oh, I'm quite aware
of it! I've made a study of women. Only, it's Prince
Conrad whom you hate, isn't it? It's the German,
the conqueror. For, after all, there's no reason why
you should dislike the man himself. ... And, at
this moment, it's the man who is in question, who is
trying to please you . .. do you understand? ...
So. ..
“I had risen to my feet and faced him. I did
not speak a single word; but he must have seen in
my eyes so great an expression of disgust that he
stopped in the middle of his sentence, looking abso-
lutely stupid. Then, his nature getting the better of
him, he shook his fist at me, like a common fellow,
and went off slamming the door and muttering
threats. ..."
Then, hof his sentent disgust then in
The next two pages of the diary were missing.
Paul was gray in the face. He had never suffered to
such an extent as this. It seemed to him as though


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE
149
random, marking the days herself, without troubling
about the printed headings.
Paul trembled as he read on. And fresh revela-
tions aggravated his dread:
“Thursday.
“Rosalie asks them the news every morning. The
French retreat is continuing. They even say that it
has developed into a rout and that Paris has been
abandoned. The government has fled. We are done
for.
"Seven o'clock in the evening.
“He is walking under my windows as usual. He
has with him a woman whom I have already seen
many times at a distance and who always wears a
great peasant's cloak and a lace scarf which hides
her face. But, as a rule, when he walks on the lawn
he is accompanied by an officer whom they call the
major. This man also keeps his head concealed, by
turning up the collar of his gray cloak.
“Friday.
“The soldiers are dancing on the lawn, while their
band plays German national hymns and the bells of
Ornequin are kept ringing with all their might.
They are celebrating the entrance of their troops
into Paris. It must be true, I fear! Their joy is
the best proof of the truth.
"Saturday.
“Between my rooms and the boudoir where moth-


150
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
er's portrait used to hang is the room that was
mother's bedroom. This is now occupied by the
major. He is an intimate friend of the prince and
an important person, so they say. The soldiers
know him only as Major Hermann. He does not
humble himself in the prince's presence as the other
officers do. On the contrary, he seems to address him
with a certain familiarity.
“At this minute they are walking side by side on
the gravel path. The prince is leaning on Major
Hermann's arm. I feel sure that they are talking
about me and that they are not at one. It looks al-
most as if Major Hermann were angry.
“Ten o'clock in the morning.
“I was right. Rosalie tells me that they had a vio-
lent scene.
"Tuesday, 8 September.
“There is something strange in the behavior of all
of them. The prince, the major and the other offi-
cers appear to be nervous about something. The
soldiers have ceased singing. There are sounds of
quarreling. Can things be turning in our favor?”
“Thursday.
“The excitement is increasing. It seems that cour-
iers keep on arriving at every moment. The officers
have sent part of their baggage into Germany. I
am full of hope. But, on the other hand. ...
“Oh, my dear Paul, if you knew the torture those
visits cause me! ... He is no longer the bland


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE. 151
and honey-mouthed man of the early days. He has
thrown off the mask. ... But, no, no, I will not
speak of that! ...
“Friday.
“The whole of the village of Ornequin has been
packed off to Germany. They don't want a single
witness to remain of what happened during the aw-
ful night which I described to you.
“Sunday evening.
“They are defeated and retreating far from Paris.
He confessed as much, grinding his teeth and utter-
ing threats against me as he spoke. I am the hostage
on whom they are revenging themselves. ...
“Tuesday.
“Paul, if ever you meet him in battle, kill him like
a dog. But do those people fight? Oh, I don't know
what I'm saying! My head is going round and
round. Why did I stay here? You ought to have
taken me away, Paul, by force. ....
“Paul, what do you think he has planned? Oh,
the dastard! They have kept twelve of the Orne-
quin villagers as hostages; and it is I, it is I who am
responsible for their lives! ... Do you under-
stand the horror of it? They will live, or they will
be shot, one by one, according to my behavior. ...
The thing seems too infamous to believe. Is he only
trying to frighten me? Oh, the shamefulness of such
a threat! What a hell to find one's self in! I would
rather die. ...
nsible for thostages; and it is elve of the Or


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE
153
closed my eyes, in order that she might believe me
to be asleep. But the feeling of her very presence
and approach increased within me; and I was able
clearly to follow all her doings. She stooped over
me and looked at me for a long time, as though she
did not know me and wanted to study my face. How
was it that she did not hear the frantic beating of my
heart? I could hear hers and also the regular move-
ment of her breath. The agony I went through!
Who was the woman? What was her object?
“She ceased her scrutiny and went away, but not
very far. Through my eyelids I could half see her
bending beside me, occupied in some silent task; and
at last I became so certain that she was no longer
watching me that I gradually yielded to the tempta-
tion to open my eyes. I wanted, if only for a second,
to see her face and what she was doing.
"I looked; and Heaven only knows by what miracle
I had the strength to keep back the cry that tried to
force its way through my lips! The woman who
stood there and whose features I was able to make
out plainly by the light of the night-light was. ...
“Ah, I can't write anything so blasphemous! If
the woman had been beside me, kneeling down, pray-
ing, and I had seen a gentle face smiling through its
tears, I should not have trembled before that unex-
pected vision of the dead. But this distorted, fierce,
infernal expression, hideous with hatred and wicked-
ness: no sight in the world could have filled me with
greater terror. And it is perhaps for this reason,


154
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
because the sight was so extravagant and unnatural,
that I did not cry out and that I am now almost
calm. At the moment when my eyes saw, I under-
stood that I was the victim of a nightmare.
“Mother, mother, you never wore and you never
can wear that expression. You were kind and gentle,
were you not? You used to smile; and, if you were
still alive, you would now be wearing that same kind
and gentle look? Mother, darling, since the terrible
night when Paul recognized your portrait, I have
often been back to that room, to learn to know my
mother's face, which I had forgotten: I was so young,
mother, when you died! And, though I was sorry
that the painter had given you a different expression
from the one I should have liked to see, at least it was ·
not the wicked and malignant expression of just
now. Why should you hate me? I am your daugh-
ter. Father has often told me that we had the same
smile, you and I, and also that your eyes would
grow moist with tears when you looked at me. So
you do not loathe me, do you? And I did dream, did
I not?
“Or, at least, if I was not dreaming when I saw
a woman in my room, I was dreaming when that
woman seemed to me to have your face. It was a
delirious hallucination, it must have been. I had
looked at your portrait so long and thought of you
so much that I gave the stranger the features which
I knew; and it was she, not you, who bore that hate-
ful expression.


A SPRIG OF EMPIRE
155
"And so I sha'n't drink the water. What she
poured into it must have been poison ... or per-
haps a powerful sleeping-drug which would make me
helpless against the prince. ... And I cannot but
think of the woman who sometimes walks with
him. ...
“As for me, I know nothing, I understand nothing,
"It will soon be three o'clock. . .. I am waiting
for Rosalie. It is a quiet night. There is not a
sound in the house or outside. ...
“It is striking three. Ah, to be away from
this! ... To be free! ..."


CHAPTER X
75 OR 155?
Paul DELROZE anxiously turned the page, as
though hoping that the plan of escape might have
proved successful; and he received, as it were, a
fresh shock of grief on reading the first lines, writ-
ten the following morning, in an almost illegible
hand:
“We were denounced, betrayed. ... Twenty men
were spying on our movements. . . . They fell upon
us like brutes. ... I am now locked up in the park
lodge. A little lean-to beside it is serving as a prison
for Jérôme and Rosalie. They are bound and
gagged. I am free, but there are soldiers at the door.
I can hear them speaking to one another.
“Twelve mid-day.
"It is very difficult for me to write to you, Paul.
The sentry on duty opens the door and watches my
every movement. They did not search me, so I was
able to keep the leaves of my diary; and I write to
you hurriedly, by scraps at a time, in a dark cor-
ner. ...
“My diary! Shall you find it, Paul? Will you
156


75 OR 155?
157
know all that has happened and what has become of
me? If only they don't take it from me! ....
“They have brought me bread and water! I am
still separated from Rosalie and Jérôme. They have
not given them anything to eat.
“Two o'clock.
“Rosalie has managed to get rid of her gag. She
is now speaking to me in an undertone through the
wall. She heard what the men who are guarding us
said and she tells me that Prince Conrad left last
night for Corvigny; that the French are approaching
and that the soldiers here are very uneasy. Are they
going to defend themselves, or will they fall back
towards the frontier? . . . It was Major Hermann
who prevented our escape. Rosalie says that we are
done for. ...
“Half-past two.
“Rosalie and I had to stop speaking. I have just
asked her what she meant, why we should be done for.
She maintains that Major Hermann is a devil:
“ 'Yes, devil,' she repeated. “And, as he has spe-
cial reasons for acting against you. ...!
“ 'What reasons, Rosalie?
“'I will explain later. But you may be sure that
if Prince Conrad does not come back from Corvigny
in time to save us, Major Hermann will seize the op-
portunity to have all three of us shot. . ..'"


168
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Paul positively roared with rage when he saw the
dreadful word set down in his poor Élisabeth's hand.
It was on one of the last pages. After that there
were only a few sentences written at random, across
the paper, obviously in the dark, sentences that
seemed breathless as the voice of one dying:
“The tocsin! ... The wind carries the sound
from Corvigny. ... What can it mean? ... The
French troops? . . . Paul, Paul, perhaps you are
with them! ..
“Two soldiers came in, laughing:
“ 'Lady's kaput! ... All three kaput! ...
Major Hermann said so: they're kaput!
"I am alone again. ... We are going to
die. ... But Rosalie wants to talk to me and
daren't. ...
“Five o'clock.
“The French artillery. ... Shells bursting
round the château. ... Oh, if one of them could hit
me! ... I hear Rosalie's voice. ... What has
she to tell me? What secret has she discovered?
“Oh, horror! Oh, the vile truth! Rosalie has
spoken. Dear God, I beseech Thee, give me time to
write. ... Paul, you could never imagine. ...
You must be told before I die. ... Paul. ..."
The rest of the page was torn out; and the follow-
ing pages, to the end of the month, were blank. Had


75 OR 155?
159
Élisabeth had the time and the strength to write
down what Rosalie had revealed to her?
This was a question which Paul did not even ask
himself. What cared he for those revelations and the
darkness that once again and for good shrouded the
truth which he could no longer hope to discover?
What cared he for vengeance or Prince Conrad or
Major Hermann or all those savages who tortured
and slew women? Élisabeth was dead. She had, so
to speak, died before his eyes. Nothing outside that
fact was worth a thought or an effort. Faint and
stupefied by a sudden fit of cowardice, his eyes still
fixed on the diary in which his poor wife had jotted
down the phases of the most cruel martyrdom im-
aginable, he felt an immense longing for death and
oblivion steal slowly over him. Élisabeth was calling
to him. Why go on fighting? Why not join her?
Then some one tapped him on the shoulder. A
hand seized the revolver which he was holding; and
Bernard said:
“Drop that, Paul. If you think that a soldier has
the right to kill himself at the present time, I will
leave you free to do so when you have heard what I
have to say."
Paul made no protest. The temptation to die had
come to him, but almost without his knowing it; and,
though he would perhaps have yielded to it, in a mo-
ment of madness, he was still in the state of mind in
which a man soon recovers his consciousness.
“Speak,” he said.


160
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“It will not take long. Three minutes will give
me time to explain. Listen to me. I see, from the
writing, that you have found a diary kept by Elisa-
beth. Does it confirm what you knew ?”
“Yes."
"When Élisabeth wrote it, was she threatened
with death as well as Jérôme and Rosalie?"
“Yes."
“And all three were shot on the day when you and
I arrived at Corvigny, that is to say, on Wednesday,
the sixteenth?”
“Yes.”
“It was between five and six in the afternoon, on
the day before the Thursday when we arrived here,
at the Château d'Ornequin?"
“Yes, but why these questions?”
“Why? Look at this, Paul. I took from you
and I hold in my hand the splinter of shell which
you removed from the wall of the lodge at the exact
spot where Élisabeth was shot. Here it is. There
was a lock of hair still sticking to it.”
“Well?”
“Well, I had a talk just now with an adjutant
of artillery, who was passing by the château; and
the result of our conversation and of his inspection
was that the splinter does not belong to a shell fired
from a 75-centimeter gun, but to a shell fired from
a 155-centimeter gun, a Rimailho.”
“I don't understand.”
“You don't understand, because you don't know


75 OR 155?
161
or because you have forgotten what my adjutant
reminded me of. On the Corvigny day, Wednesday
the sixteenth, the batteries which opened fire and
dropped a few shells on the château at the moment
when the execution was taking place were all batter-
ies of seventy-fives; and our one-five-five Rimailhos
did not fire until the next day, Thursday, while we
were marching against the château. Therefore, as
Élisabeth was shot and buried at about 6 o'clock on
the Wednesday evening, it is physically impossible
for a splinter of a shell fired from a Rimailho to have
taken off a lock of her hair, because the Rimailhos
were not fired until the Thursday morning.”
“Then you mean to say ..." murmured Paul, in
a husky voice.
“I mean to say, how can we doubt that the Ri-
mailho splinter was picked up from the ground on
the Thursday morning and deliberately driven into
the wall among some locks of hair cut off on the
evening before?”
“But you're crazy, Bernard! What object can
there have been in that?"
Bernard gave a smile :
“Well, of course, the object of making people
think that Élisabeth had been shot when she hadn't.”
Paul rushed at him and shook him:
“You know something, Bernard, or you wouldn't be
laughing! Can't you speak? How do you account
for the bullets in the wall of the lodge? And the
iron chain? And that third ring?”


162 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Just so. There were too many stage properties.
When an execution takes place, does one see marks
of bullets like that? And did you ever find Élisa-
beth’s body? How do you know that they did not
take pity on her after shooting Jérôme and his wife?
Or who can tell? Some one may have inter-
fered. ..."
Paul felt some little hope steal over him. Élisa-
beth, after being condemned to death by Major
Hermann, had perhaps been saved by Prince Con-
rad, returning from Corvigny before the execution.
He stammered:
"Perhaps . . . yes . . . perhaps. . . . And then
there's this: Major Hermann knew of our presence
at Corvigny-remember your meeting with that peas-
ant woman-and wanted Élisabeth at any rate to be
dead for us, so that we might give up looking for
her. I expect Major Hermann arranged those prop-
erties, as you call them. How can I tell? Have I
any right to hope ?”
Bernard came closer to him and said, solemnly:
“It's not hope, Paul, that I'm bringing you, but
a certainty. I wanted to prepare you for it. And
now listen. My reason for asking those questions of
the artillery adjutant was that I might check facts
which I already knew. Yes, when I was at Orne-
quin village just now, a convoy of German pris-
oners arrived from the frontier. I was able to ex-
change a few words with one of them who had formed
part of the garrison of the château. He had seen


75 OR 155?
163
things, therefore. He knew. Well, Élisabeth was
not shot. Prince Conrad prevented the execution.”
“What's that? What's that?” cried Paul, over-
come with joy. “You're quite sure? She's alive?”
“Yes, alive. ... They've taken her to Germany."
“But since then? For, after all, Major Hermann
may have caught up with her and succeeded in his
designs."
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Through that prisoner. The French lady whom
he had seen here he saw this morning." .
“Where?”
“Not far from the frontier, in a village just outside
Èbrecourt, under the protection of the man who
saved her and who is certainly capable of defending
her against Major Hermann."
“What's that?” repeated Paul, but in a dull voice
this time and with a face distorted with anger.
“Prince Conrad, who seems to take his soldiering
in a very amateurish spirit-he is looked upon as an
idiot, you know, even in his own family—has made
Èbrecourt his headquarters and calls on Élisabeth
every day. There is no fear, therefore. ..." But
Bernard interrupted himself, and asked in amaze-
ment, “Why, what's the matter? You're gray in
the face.”
Paul took his brother-in-law by the shoulders and
shouted:
“Élisabeth is lost. Prince Conrad has fallen in
matter; asked ;; " But


75 OR 155?
165
and that we should have rushed to Élisabeth's res-
cue together, without counting the risk. Unfor-
tunately. ..."
“What?”
“Well, it's this, Paul: there is no intention on our
side of taking a more vigorous offensive. They've
sent for reserve and territorial regiments; and we
are leaving."
"Leaving?" stammered Paul, in dismay.
“Yes, this evening. Our division is to start from
Corvigny this evening and go I don't know where ...
to Rheims, perhaps, or Arras. North and west, in
short. So you see, my poor chap, your plan can't
be realized. Come, buck up. And don't look so
distressed. It breaks my heart to see you. After
all, Élisabeth isn't in danger. She will know how
to defend herself. ..."
Paul did not answer. He remembered Prince Con-
rad's abominable words, quoted by Élisabeth in her
diary:
“It is war. It is the law, the law of war.”
He felt the tremendous weight of that law bearing
upon him, but he felt at the same time that he was
obeying it in its noblest and loftiest phase, the sacri-
fice of the individual to everything demanded by the
safety of the nation.
The law of war? No, the duty of war; and a duty
so imperious that a man does not discuss it and that,
implacable though it be, he must not even allow the
merest quiver of a complaint to stir in his secret soul.


166
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Whether Élisabeth was faced by death or by dis-
honor did not concern Sergeant Paul Delroze and
could not make him turn for a second from the path
which he was ordered to follow. He was a soldier
first and a man afterwards. He owed no duty save
to France, his sorely-stricken and beloved country.
He carefully folded up Élisabeth's diary and went
out, followed by his brother-in-law.
At nightfall he left the Château d'Ornequin.


CHAPTER XI
“YSERY, MISERY”
Toul, Bar-le-Duc, Vitry-le-François. ... The
little towns sped past as the long train carried Paul
and Bernard westwards into France. Other, num-
berless trains came before or after theirs, laden with
troops and munitions of war. They reached the out-
skirts of Paris and turned north, passing through
Beauvais, Amiens and Arras.
It was necessary that they should arrive there first,
on the frontier, to join the heroic Belgians and to
join them as high up as possible. Every mile of
ground covered was so much territory snatched from
the invader during the long immobilized war that was
in preparation.
Second Lieutenant Paul Delroze he had received
his new rank in the course of the railway journey
accomplished the northward march as it were in a
dream, fighting every day, risking his life every min-
ute, leading his men with irresistible dash, but all as
though he were doing it without his own cognizance,
in obedience to the automatic operation of a prede!
termined will.
While Bernard continued to stake his life with a
167


168
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
ce.
laugh, as though in play, keeping up his comrade's
courage with his own light-hearted pluck, Paul re-
mained speechless and absent. Everything—fatigue,
privations, the weather-seemed to him a matter of
indifference.
Nevertheless, it was an immense delight, as he
would sometimes confess to Bernard, to be going
towards the fighting line. He had the feeling that
he was making for a definite object, the only one that
interested him: Élisabeth's deliverance. Even
though he was attacking this frontier and not the
other, the eastern frontier, he was still rushing with
all the strength of his hatred against the detested
enemy. Whether that enemy was defeated here or
there made little difference. In either case, Élisabeth
would be free.
“We shall succeed," said Bernard. "You may be
sure that Élisabeth will outwit that swine. Mean-
while, we shall stampede the Huns, make a dash
across Belgium, take Conrad in the rear and capture
Èbrecourt. Doesn't the proposal make you smile?
Oh, no, you never smile, do you, when you demolish
a Hun? Not you! You've got a little way of laugh-
ing that tells me all about it. I say to myself,
“There's a bullet gone home,' or 'That's done it: he's
got one at the end of his toothpick! For you've
a way of your own of sticking them. Ah, lieutenant,
how fierce we grow! Simply through practise in
killing! And to think that it makes us laugh!"
Roye, Lassigny, Chaulnes. ... Later, the Bas-


“YSERY, MISERY”
169
sée Canal and the River Lys. . . . And, later and at
last, Ypres. Ypres! Here the two lines met, ex-
tended towards the sea. After the French rivers,
after the Marne, the Aisne, the Oise and the Somme,
a little Belgian stream was to run red with young
men's blood. The terrible battle of the Yser was
beginning.
Bernard, who soon won his sergeant's stripes, and
Paul Delroze lived in this hell until the early days of
December. Together with half a dozen Parisians, a
volunteer soldier, a reservist and a Belgian called
Laschen, who had escaped from Roulers and joined
the French in order to get at the enemy more quickly,
they formed a little band who seemed proof against
fire. Of the whole section commanded by Paul, only
these remained ; and, when the section was re-formed,
they continued to group together. They claimed all
the dangerous expeditions. And each time, when
their task was fulfilled, they met again, safe and
sound, without a scratch, as though they brought
one another luck.
During the last fortnight, the regiment, which had
been pushed to the extreme point of the front, was
flanked by the Belgian lines on the one side and the
British lines on the other. Heroic assaults were de-
livered. Furious bayonet charges were made in the
mud, even in the water of the flooded fields; and the
Germans fell by the thousand and the ten thousand.
Bernard was in the seventh heaven:
“Tommy,” he said to a little English soldier who


170
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
was advancing by his side one day under a hail of
shot and who did not understand a single word of
French, "Tommy, no one admires the Belgians more
than I do, but they don't stagger me, for the simple
reason that they fight in our fashion; that is to say,
like lions. The fellows who stagger me are you Eng-
lish beggars. You're different, you know. You have
& way of your own of doing your work. . .. and
such work! No excitement, no fury. You keep all
that bottled up. Oh, of course, you go mad when
you retreat: that's when you're really terrible! You
never gain as much ground as when you've lost a bit.
Result: mashed Boches !"
He paused and then continued:
“I give you my word, Tommy, it fills us with con-
fidence to have you by our side. Listen and I'll tell
you a great secret. France is getting lots of ap-
plause just now; and she deserves it. We are all
standing on our legs, holding our heads high and
without boasting. We wear a smile on our faces
and are quite calm, with clean souls and bright eyes.
Well, the reason why we don't flinch, why we have
confidence nailed to our hearts, is that you are with
us. It's as I say, Tommy. Look here, do you know
at what precise moment France felt just a little shak-
ing at the pit of her stomach? During the retreat
from Belgium? Not a bit of it! When Paris was
within an ace of being sacked? Not at all. You give
it up? Well, it was on the first day or two. At
that time, you see, we knew, without saying so, with-


“YSERY, MISERY”
171
out admitting it even to ourselves, that we were done
for. There was no help for it. No time to prepare
ourselves. Done for was what we were. And, though
I say it as shouldn't, France behaved well. She
marched straight to death without wincing, with her
brightest smile and as gaily as if she were marching
to certain victory. Ave, Cæsar, morituri te salutant!
Die? Why not, since our honor demands it? Die
to save the world? Right you are! And then sud-
denly London rings us up on the telephone. 'Hullo!
Who are you?' 'It's England speaking.' 'Well?'
'Well, I'm coming in.' 'You don't mean it?' 'I do-
with my last ship, with my last man, with my last
shilling. Then ... oh, then there was a sudden
change of front! Die? Rather not! No question
of that now! Live, yes, and conquer! We two to-
gether will settle fate. From that day, France did
not know a moment's uneasiness. The retreat? A
trifle. Paris captured? A mere accident! One
thing alone mattered: the final result. Fighting
against England and France, there's nothing left
for you Huns to do but go down on your knees.
Here, Tommy, I'll start with that one: the big fellow
at the foot of the tree. Down on your knees, you
big fellow! ... Hi! Tommy! Where are you off
to? Calling you, are they? Good-by, Tommy. My
love to England!”
It was on the evening of that day, as the 3rd
company were skirmishing near Dixmude, that an
incident occurred which struck the two brothers-in-


172 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
law as very odd. Paul suddenly felt a violent blow
in the right side, just above the hip. He had no
time to bother about it. But, on retiring to the
trenches, he saw that a bullet had passed through the
holster of his revolver and flattened itself against
the barrel. Now, judging from the position which
Paul had occupied, the bullet must have been fired
from behind him; that is to say, by a soldier belong-
ing to his company or to some other company of his
regiment. Was it an accident? A piece of awk-
wardness?
Two days later, it was Bernard's turn. Luck pro-
tected him, too. A bullet went through his knap-
sack and grazed his shoulder-blade.
And, four days after that, Paul had his cap shot
through: and, this time again, the bullet came from
the French lines.
There was no doubt about it therefore. The two
brothers-in-law had evidently been aimed at; and
the traitor, a criminal in the enemy's pay, was con-
cealed in the French ranks.
“It's as sure as eggs," said Bernard. “You first,
then I, then you again. There's a touch of Her-
mann about this. The major must be at Dixmude.”
“And perhaps the prince, too,” observed Paul.
“Very likely. In any case, one of their agents has
slipped in amongst us. How are we to get at him?
Tell the colonel?”
"If you like, Bernard, but don't speak of our-
selves and of our private quarrel with the major. I


“YSERY, MISERY”
173
did think for a moment of going to the colonel about
it, but decided not to, as I did not want to drag in
Élisabeth's name.”
There was no occasion, however, for them to warn
their superiors. Though the attempts on the lives
of Paul and Bernard were not repeated, there were
fresh instances of treachery every day. French bat-
teries were located and attacked; their movements
were forestalled; and everything proved that a spy-
ing system had been organized on a much more
methodical and active scale than anywhere else.
They felt certain of the presence of Major Hermann,
who was evidently one of the chief pivots of the sys-
tem.
“He is here,” said Bernard, pointing to the Ger-
man lines. “He is here because the great game is
being played in those marshes and because there is
work for him to do. And also he is here because we
are.”
"How would he know?” Paul objected.
And Bernard rejoined:
“How could he fail to know?
One afternoon there was a meeting of the majors
and the captains in the cabin which served as the
colonel's quarters. Paul Delroze was summoned to
attend it and was told that the general commanding
the division had ordered the capture of a little house,
standing on the left bank of the canal, which in or-
dinary times was inhabited by a ferryman. The
Germans had strengthened and were holding it. The


174
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
fire of their distant batteries, set up on a height on
the other side, defended this block-house, which had
formed the center of the fighting for some days. It
had become necessary to take it.
“For this purpose,” said the colonel, “we have
called for a hundred volunteers from the African
companies. They will set out to-night and deliver the
assault to-morrow morning. Our business will be to
support them at once and, once the attack has suc-
ceeded, to repel the counter-attacks, which are sure
to be extremely violent because of the importance of
the position. You all of you know the position, gen-
tlemen. It is separated from us by the marshes
which our African volunteers will enter to-night ...
up to their waists, one might say. But to the right
of the marshes, alongside of the canal, runs a tow-
path by which we will be able to come to the rescue.
This tow-path has been swept by the guns on both
sides and is free for a great part. Still, half a mile
before the ferryman's house there is an old light-
house which was occupied by the Germans until lately
and which we have just destroyed with our gun-fire.
Have they evacuated it entirely? Is there a danger
of encountering an advance post there? It would
be a good thing if we could find out; and I thought
of you, Delroze.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It's not a dangerous job, but it's a delicate one;
and it will have to make certain. I want you to start
to-night. If the old lighthouse is occupied, come


“YSERY, MISERY”
175
back. If not, send for a dozen reliable men and hide
them carefully until we come up. It will make an
excellent base.”
“Very well, sir.”
Paul at once made his arrangements, called to-
gether his little band of Parisians and volunteers
who, with the reservist and Laschen the Belgian,
formed his usual command, warned them that he
would probably want them in the course of the night
and, at nine o'clock in the evening, set out, accom-
panied by Bernard d'Andeville.
The fire from the enemy's guns kept them for a
long time on the bank of the canal, behind a huge,
uprooted willow-trunk. Then an impenetrable dark-
ness gathered round them, so much so that they
could not even distinguish the water of the canal.
They crept rather than walked along, for fear of
unexpected flashes of light. A slight breeze was
blowing across the muddy fields and over the
marshes, which quivered with the whispering of the
reeds.
“It's pretty dreary here," muttered Bernard.
“Hold your tongue.”
“As you please, lieutenant.”
Guns kept booming at intervals for no reason, like
dogs barking to make a noise amid the deep, nervous
silence; and other guns at once barked back furi-
ously, as if to make a noise in their turn and to prove
that they were not asleep.
And once more peace reigned. Nothing stirred


176
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
in space. It was as though the very grass of the
marshes had ceased to wave. And yet Bernard and
Paul seemed to perceive the slow progress of the
African volunteers who had set out at the same time
as themselves, their long halts in the middle of the
icy waters, their stubborn efforts.
“Drearier and drearier,” sighed Bernard.
“You're very impressionable to-night,” said Paul.
"It's the Yser. You know what the men say:
‘Yysery, misery!'”
They dropped to the ground suddenly. The
enemy was sweeping the path and the marshes with
search-lights. There were two more alarms; and at
last they reached the neighborhood of the old light-
house without impediment.
It was half-past eleven. With infinite caution
they stole in between the demolished blocks of ma-
sonry and soon perceived that the post had been
abandoned. Nevertheless, they discovered, under
the broken steps of the staircase, an open trap-door
and a ladder leading to a cellar which revealed
gleams of swords and helmets. But Bernard, who
was piercing the darkness from above with the rays
of his electric lamp, declared:
“There's nothing to fear, they're dead. The Huns
must have thrown them in, after the recent bombard-
ment.”
“Yes," said Paul. “And we must be prepared for
the fact that they may send for the bodies. Keep
guard on the Yser side, Bernard."


“YSERY, MISERY”
177
“And suppose one of the beggars is still alive?”
“I'll go down and see.”
“Turn out their pockets,” said Bernard, as he
moved away, "and bring us back their note-books. I
love those. They're the best indications of the
state of their souls , .. or rather of their stom-
achs.”
Paul went down. The cellar was a fairly large
one. Half-a-dozen bodies lay spread over the floor,
all lifeless and cold. Acting on Bernard's advice, he
turned out the pockets and casually inspected the
note-books. There was nothing interesting to at-
tract his attention. But in the tunic of the sixth
soldier whom he examined, a short, thin man, shot
right through the head, he found a pocket-book bear-
ing the name of Rosenthal and containing French
and Belgian bank-notes and a packet of letters with
Spanish, Dutch and Swiss postage stamps. The let-
ters, all of which were in German, had been addressed
to a German agent residing in France, whose name
did not appear, and sent by him to Private Rosen-
thal, on whose body Paul discovered them. This pri-
vate was to pass them on, together with a photo-
graph, to a third person, referred to as his excel-
lency.
“Secret Service,” said Paul, looking through
them. “Confidential information. . . . Statistics.
... What a pack of scoundrels !”
But, on glancing at the pocket-book again, he saw
an envelope which he tore open. Inside was a photo-


178 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
graph; and Paul's surprise at the sight of it was so
great that he uttered an exclamation. It repre-
sented the woman whose portrait he had seen in the
locked room at Ornequin, the same woman, with the
same lace scarf arranged in the identical way and
with the same expression, whose hardness was not
masked by its smile. And was this woman not the
Comtesse Hermine d’Andeville, the mother of Élisa-
beth and Bernard ?
The print bore the name of a Berlin photographer.
On turning it over, Paul saw something that in-
creased his stupefaction. There were a few words
of writing:
"To Stéphane 'd’Andeville. 1902.”
Stéphane was the Comte d’Andeville's Christian
name!
The photograph, therefore, had been sent from
Berlin to the father of Elisabeth and Bernard in
1902, that is to say, four years after the Comtesse
Hermine's death, so that Paul was faced with one of
two solutions: either the photograph, taken be-
fore the Comtesse Hermine's death, was inscribed
with the date of the year in which the count had
received it; or else the Comtesse Hermine was still
alive.
And, in spite of himself, Paul thought of Major
Hermann, whose memory was suggested to his
troubled mind by this portrait, as it had been by the
picture in the locked room. Hermann! Hermine!
And here was Hermine's image discovered by him on


“YSERY, MISERY”
179
the corpse of a German spy, by the banks of the
Yser, where the chief spy, who was certainly Major
Hermann, must even now be prowling.
“Paul! Paul!
It was his brother-in-law calling him.' Paul rose
quickly, hid the photograph, being fully resolved
not to speak of it to Bernard, and climbed the lad-
der.
“Well, Bernard, what is it?"
“A little troop of Boches. ... I thought at first
that they were a patrol, relieving the sentries, and
that they would keep on the other side. But they've
unmoored a couple of boats and are pulling across
the canal.”
“Yes, I can hear them.”
“Shall we fire at them?” Bernard suggested.
“No, it would mean giving the alarm. It's better
to watch them. Besides, that's what we're here for.”
But at this moment there was a faint whistle from
the tow-path. A similar whistle answered from the
boat. Two other signals were exchanged at regular
intervals.
A church clock struck midnight.
“It's an appointment,” Paul conjectured. “This
is becoming interesting. Follow me. I noticed a
place below where I think we shall be safe against
any surprise.”
It was a back-cellar separated from the first by
a brick wall containing a breach through which
they easily made their way. They rapidly filled up


“YSERY, MISERY”
181
“I'm here, Excellenz. You can come now.”
And they saw Laschen, the Belgian, or rather the
self-styled Belgian who had given his name as Las-
chen and who belonged to Paul's section. They now
knew where the three shots that had been fired at
them came from. The traitor was there. Under the
light they clearly distinguished his face, the face of
a man of forty, with fat, heavy features and red-
rimmed eyes. He seized the uprights of the ladder
so as to hold it steady. An officer climbed down
cautiously, wrapped in a wide gray cloak with up-
turned collar.
They recognized Major Hermann.


CHAPTER XII
MAJOR HERMANN
RESISTING the surge of hatred that might have
driven him to perform an immediate act of venge-
ance, Paul at once laid his hand on Bernard's arm
to compel him to prudence. But he himself was filled
with rage at the sight of that demon. The man who
represented in his eyes every one of the crimes com-
mitted against his father and his wife, that man was
there, in front of his revolver, and Paul must not
budge! Nay more, circumstances had taken such a
shape that, to a certainty, the man would go away in
a few minutes, to commit other crimes, and there was
no possibility of calling him to account.
"Good, Karl,” said the major, in German, address-
ing the so-called Belgian. “Good. You have been
punctual. Well, what news is there?”
“First of all, Excellenz," replied Karl, who seemed
to treat the major with that deference mingled with
familiarity which men show to a superior who is also
their accomplice, “by your leave.”
He took off his blue tunic and put on that of one
of the dead Germans. Then, giving the military
salute:
“That's better. You see, I'm a good German,
182


MAJOR HERMANN
183
Excellenz. I don't stick at any job. But this uni-
form chokes me.
“Well, Excellenz, it's too dangerous a trade, plied
in this way. A peasant's smock is all very well; but
a soldier's tunic won't do. Those beggars know no
fear; I am obliged to follow them; and I run the risk
of being killed by a German bullet."
“What about the two brothers-in-law?"
“I fired at them three times from behind and three
times I missed them. Couldn't be helped: they've
got the devil's luck; and I should only end by getting
caught. So, as you say, I'm deserting; and I sent
the youngster who runs between me and Rosenthal
to make an appointment with you.”
“Rosenthal sent your note on to me at headquar-
ters."
“But there was also a photograph, the one you
know of, and a bundle of letters from your agents
in France. I didn't want to have those proofs found
on me if I was discovered.”
“Rosenthal was to have brought them to me him-
self. Unfortunately, he made a blunder.”
“What was that, Excellenz?”
“Getting killed by a shell.”
“Nonsense!”
“There's his body at your feet.”
Karl merely shrugged his shoulders and said:
“The fool!"
“Yes, he never knew how to look after himself,"
added the major, completing the funeral oration.


184 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Take his pocketbook from him, Karl. He used to
carry it in an inside pocket of his woolen waist-
coat.”
The spy stooped and, presently, said:
“It's not there, Excellenz.”
“Then he put it somewhere else. Look in the
other pockets."
Karl did so and said:
“It's not there either.”
“What! This is beyond me! Rosenthal never
parted with his pocketbook. He used to keep it to
sleep with; he would have kept it to die with.”
“Look for yourself, Excellenz.”
“But then . . . pp
“Some one must have been here recently and
taken the pocketbook.”
“Who? Frenchmen?”
The spy rose to his feet, was silent for a moment
and then, going up to the major, said in a deliberate
voice:
“Not Frenchmen, Excellenz, but a Frenchman."
“What do you mean?”
“Excellenz, Delroze started on a reconnaissance
not long ago with his brother-in-law, Bernard d'An-
deville. I could not get to know in which direction,
but I know now. He came this way. He must have
explored the ruins of the lighthouse and, seeing some
dead lying about, turned out their pockets.”
“That's a bad business,” growled the major. “Are
you sure?”


MAJOR HERMANN
185
“Certain. He must have been here an hour ago
at most. Perhaps," added Karl, with a laugh, "per-
haps he's here still, hiding in some hole. ..."
Both of them cast a look around them, but me-
chanically; and the movement denoted no serious
fear on their part. Then the major continued, pen-
sively:
“After all, that bundle of letters received by our
agents, letters without names or addresses to them,
doesn't matter so much. But the photograph is
more important.”
“I should think so, Excellenz! Why, here's a
photograph taken in 1902; and we've been looking
for it, therefore, for the last twelve years. I man-
age, after untold efforts, to discover it among the
papers which Comte Stéphane d’Andeville left behind
at the outbreak of war. And this photograph, which
you wanted to take back from the Comte d’Ande-
ville, to whom you had been careless enough to give
it, is now in the hands of Paul Delroze, M. d’Ande-
ville's son-in-law, Élisabeth d’Andeville's husband
and your mortal enemy!”
“Well, I know all that," cried the major, who was
obviously annoyed. “You needn't rub it in!”
“Excellenz, one must always look facts in the face.
What has been your constant object with regard to
Paul Delroze? To conceal from him the truth as
to your identity and therefore to turn his attention,
his enquiries, his hatred, towards Major Hermann.
That's so, is it not? You went to the length of


MAJOR HERMANN
187
“Are you sure of that, Excellenz?”
“What's that?"
The two accomplices were standing close together,
looking into each other's eyes, the major uneasy and
irritated, the spy cunning.
"Speak,” said the major. “What do you want
to say?"
"Just this, Excellenz, that just now I was able to
put my hand on Delroze's kit-bag. Not for long:
two seconds, that's all; but long enough to see two
things. ..."
“Hurry up, can't you?”
“First, the loose leaves of that manuscript of which
you took care to burn the more important papers,
but of which, unfortunately, you mislaid a consid-
erable part.”
“His wife's diary?”
“Yes."
The major burst into an oath:
“May I be damned for everlasting! One
should burn everything in those cases. Oh, if I
hadn't indulged that foolish curiosity! ... And
next?”
“Oh, hardly anything, Excellenz! A bit of a shell,
yes, a little bit of a shell; but I must say that it
looked to me very like the splinter which you ordered
me to drive into the wall of the lodge, after sticking
some of Élisabeth's hair to it. What do you think
of that, Excellenz?”
The major stamped his foot with anger and let


188 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
fly a new string of oaths and anathemas at the head
of Paul Delroze.
“What do you think of that?” repeated the spy.
“You are right,” cried the major. “His wife's
diary will have given that cursed Frenchman a
glimpse of the truth; and that piece of shell in his
possession is a proof to him that his wife is per-
haps still alive, which is the one thing I wanted to
avoid. We shall never get rid of him now!” His
rage seemed to increase. “Oh, Karl, he makes me
sick and tired! He and his street-boy of a brother-
in-law, what a pair of swankers! By God, I did
think that you had rid me of them the night when
we came back to their room at the château and found
their names written on the wall! And you can under-
stand that they won't let things rest, now that they
know the girl isn't dead! They will look for her.
They will find her. And, as she knows all our se-
crets ...! You ought to have made away with
her, Karl!”
“And the prince?” chuckled the spy.
“Conrad is an ass! The whole of that family will
bring us ill-luck and first of all to him who was
fool enough to fall in love with that hussy. You
ought to have made away with her at once, Karl-I
told you—and not to have waited for the prince's
return."
Standing full in the light as he was, Major Her-
mann displayed the most appalling highwayman's
face imaginable, appalling not because of the de-


MAJOR HERMANN
189
formity of the features or any particular ugliness,
but because of the most repulsive and savage expres-
sion, in which Paul once more recognized, carried
to the very limits of paroxysm, the expression of the
Comtesse Hermine, as revealed in her picture and
the photograph. At the thought of the crime which
had failed, Major Hermann seemed to suffer a thou-
sand deaths, as though the murder had been a con-
dition of his own life. He ground his teeth. He
rolled his bloodshot eyes.
In a distraught voice, clutching the shoulder of
his accomplice with his fingers, he shouted, this time
in French:
“Karl, it is beginning to look as though we
couldn't touch them, as though some miracle pro-
tected them against us. You've missed them three
times lately. At the Château d'Ornequin you killed
two others in their stead. I also missed him the
other day at the little gate in the park. And it was
in the same park, near the same chapel-you remem-
ber-sixteen years ago, when he was only a child,
that you drove your knife into him. ... Well, you
started your blundering on that day.”
The spy gave an insolent, cynical laugh:
“What did you expect, Excellenz? I was on the
threshold of my career and I had not your experi-
ence. Here were a father and a little boy whom we
had never set eyes on ten minutes before and who
had done nothing to us except annoy the Kaiser.
My hand shook, I confess. You, on the other hand:


190 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
ah, you made neat work of the father, you did! One
little touch of your little hand and the trick was
done!”
This time it was Paul who, slowly and carefully,
slipped the barrel of his revolver into one of the
breaches. He could no longer doubt, after Karl's
revelations, that the major had killed his father.
It was that creature whom he had seen, dagger in
hand, on that tragic evening, that creature and none
other! And the creature's accomplice of to-day was
the accomplice of the earlier occasion, the satellite
who had tried to kill Paul while his father was dy-
ing.
Bernard, seeing what Paul did, whispered in his
ear:
“So you have made up your mind? We're to shoot
him down?”
“Wait till I give the signal,” answered Paul. “But
don't you fire at him, aim at the spy."
In spite of everything, he was thinking of the in-
explicable mystery of the bonds connecting Major
Hermann with Bernard d’Andeville and his sister
Élisabeth and he could not allow Bernard to be the
one to carry out the act of justice. He himself
hesitated, as one hesitates before performing an
action of which one does not realize the full scope.
Who was that scoundrel ? What identity was Paul
to ascribe to him? To-day, Major Hermann and
chief of the German secret service; yesterday, Prince
Conrad's boon companion, all-powerful at the Châ-


192
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
And now ... now we have the girl to see to.”
"Shall I take charge of that, Excellenz?”
“No, I have a use for you here and I must stay
here myself. Things are going very badly. But I
shall go down there early in January. I shall be at
Èbrecourt on the morning of the tenth of January.
The business must be finished forty-eight hours after.
And it shall be finished, that I swear to you."
He was again silent while the spy laughed loudly.
Paul had stooped, so as to bring his eyes to the
level of his revolver. It would be criminal to hesi-
tate now. To kill the major no longer meant re-
venging himself and slaying his father's murderer:
it meant preventing a further crime and saving
Élisabeth. He had to act, whatever the consequences
of his act might be. He made up his mind.
“Are you ready?” he whispered to Bernard.
“Yes. I am waiting for you to give the signal.”
He took aim coldly, waiting for the propitious mo-
ment, and was about to pull the trigger, when Karl
said, in German: “I say, Excellenz, do you know
what's being prepared for the ferryman's house?”
“What?"
“An attack, just that. A hundred volunteers
from the African companies are on their way
through the marshes now. The assault will be de-
livered at dawn. You have only just time to let them
know at headquarters and to find out what precau-
tions they intend to take.”
The major simply said:


MAJOR HERMANN
193
“They are taken."
“What's that you say, Excellenz?”
"I say, that they are taken. I had word from
another quarter; and, as they attach great value
to the ferryman's house, I telephoned to the officer
in command of the post that we would send him
three hundred men at five o'clock in the morning.
The African volunteers will be caught in a trap.
Not one of them will come back alive."
The major gave a little laugh of satisfaction and
turned up the collar of his cloak as he added:
“Besides, to make doubly sure, I shall go and
spend the night there ... especially as I am be-
ginning to wonder whether the officer commanding
the post did not chance to send some men here with
instructions to take the papers off Rosenthal, whom
he knew to be dead."
“But ..."
“That'll do. Have Rosenthal seen to and let's
be off.”
“Am I to go with you, Excellenz?”
“No, there's no need. One of the boats will take
me up the canal. The house is not forty minutes
from here."
In answer to the spy's call, three soldiers came
down and hoisted the dead man's body to the trap-
door overhead. Karl and the major both remained
where they were, at the foot of the ladder, while Karl
turned the light of the lantern, which he had taken
down from the wall, towards the trap-door.


194
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY,
Bernard whispered:
“Shall we fire now?”
"No," said Paul.
“But ..."
“I forbid you."
When the operation was over, the major said to
Karl:
“Give me a good light and see that the ladder
doesn't slip."
He went up and disappeared from sight.
“All right,” he said. “Hurry.”
The spy climbed the ladder in his turn. Their
footsteps were heard overhead. The steps moved
in the direction of the canal and there was not a
sound.
“What on earth came over you?” cried Bernard.
“We shall never have another chance like that. The
two ruffians would have dropped at the first shot.”
“And we after them,” said Paul. “There were
twelve of them up there. We should have been
doomed.”
“But Élisabeth would have been saved, Paul!
Upon my word, I don't understand you. Fancy hav-
ing two monsters like that at our mercy and letting
them go! The man who murdered your father and
who is torturing Élisabeth was there; and you think
of ourselves !"
“Bernard,” said Paul Delroze, "you didn't under-
stand what they said at the end, in German. The
enemy has been warned of the attack and of our


MAJOR HERMANN
195
plans against the ferryman's house. In a little
while, the hundred volunteers who are stealing up
through the marsh will be the victims of an ambush
laid for them. We've got to save them first. We
have no right to sacrifice our lives before perform-
ing that duty. And I am sure that you agree with
me.”
“Yes,” said Bernard. “But all the same it was
a grand opportunity.”
"We shall have another and perhaps soon,” said
Paul, thinking of the ferryman's house to which Ma-
jor Hermann was now on his way.
“Well, what do you propose to do?”
“I shall join the detachment of volunteers. If the
lieutenant in command is of my opinion, he will
not wait until seven to deliver the assault, but at-
tack at once. And I shall be of the party.”
“And I?”
“Go back to the colonel. Explain the position
to him and tell him that the ferryman's house will
be captured this morning and that we shall hold it
until reinforcements come up."
They parted with no more words and Paul plunged
resolutely into the marshes.
The task which he was undertaking did not meet
with the obstacles he expected. After forty minutes
of rather difficult progress, he heard the murmur of
voices, gave the password and told the men to take
him to the lieutenant.
Paul's explanations at once convinced that offi-


THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
cer: the job must either be abandoned or hurried on
at once.
The column went ahead. At three o'clock, guided
by a peasant who knew a path where the men sank
no deeper than their knees, they succeeded in reach-
ing the neighborhood of the house unperceived.
Then, when the alarm had been given by a sentry, the
attack began.
This attack, one of the finest feats of arms in the
war, is too well known to need a detailed description
here. It was extremely violent. The enemy, who
was on his guard, made an equally vigorous defense.
There was a tangle of barbed wire to be forced and
many pitfalls to be overcome. A furious hand-to-
hand fight took place first outside and then inside the
house; and, by the time that the French had gained
the victory after killing or taking prisoner the
eighty-three Germans who defended it, they them-
selves had suffered losses which reduced their effec-
tive force by half.
Paul was the first to leap into the trenches, the
line of which ran beside the house on the left and
was extended in a semicircle as far as the Yser.
He had an idea: before the attack succeeded and be-
fore it was even certain that it would succeed, he
wanted to cut off all retreat on the part of the
fugitives.
Driven back at first, he made for the bank, fol-
lowed by three volunteers, stepped into the water,
went up the canal and thus came to the other side


MAJOR HERMANN
197
of the house, where, as he expected, he found a
bridge of boats.
At that moment, he saw a figure disappearing in
the darkness.
“Stay here,” he said to his men, “and let no one
pass.”
He himself jumped out of the water, crossed the
bridge and began to run.
A searchlight was thrown on the canal bank and
he again perceived the figure, thirty yards in front
of him.
A minute later, he shouted:
“Halt, or I fire!"
And, as the man continued to run, he fired, but
aimed so as not to hit him.
The fugitive stopped and fired his revolver four
times, while Paul, stooping down, flung himself be-
tween his legs and brought him to the ground.
The enemy, seeing that he was mastered, offered
no resistance. Paul rolled his cloak round him and
took him by the throat. With the hand that re-
mained free, he threw the light of his pocket-lamp
full on the other's face.
His instinct had not deceived him: the man he
held by the throat was Major Hermann.


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
199
time had done duty as a servant's attic. Paul, who
was entrusted with the arrangement of this upper
floor, brought his prisoner here. He laid him on
the floor, bound him with a cord and fastened him to
a beam; and, while doing so, he was seized with such
a paroxysm of hatred that he took him by the throat
as though to strangle him.
He mastered himself, however. After all, there
was no hurry. Before killing the man or handing
him over to the soldiers to be shot against the wall,
why deny himself the supreme satisfaction of having
an explanation with him?
When the lieutenant entered, Paul said, so as to
be heard by all and especially by the major:
"I recommend that scoundrel to your care, lieu-
tenant. It's Major Hermann, one of the chief spies
in the German army. I have the proofs on me. Re-
member that, in case anything happens to me. And,
if we should have to retreat. ..."
The lieutenant smiled:
“There's no question of that. We shall not re-
treat, for the very good reason that I would rather
blow up the shanty first. And Major Hermann,
therefore, would be blown up with us. So make your
mind easy."
The two officers discussed the defensive measures
to be adopted; and the men quickly got to
work.
First of all, the bridge of boats was unmade,
trenches dug along the canal and the machine guns


200
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
turned to face the other way. Paul, on his first floor,
had the sandbags moved from the one side of the
house to the other and the less solid-looking portions
of the wall shored up with beams.
At half-past five, under the rays of the German
flashlights, several shells fell round about. One of
them struck the house. The big guns began to
sweep the towpath.
A few minutes before daybreak, a detachment of
cyclists arrived by this path, with Bernard d'Ande-
ville at their head. He explained that two companies
and a section of sappers in advance of a complete
battalion had started, but their progress was ham-
pered by the enemy's shells and they were obliged
to skirt the marshes, under the cover of the dyke
supporting the towpath. This had slowed their
march; and it would be an hour before they could
arrive.
“An hour,” said the lieutenant. “It will be stiff
work. Still, we can do it. So ..."
While he was giving new orders and placing the
cyclists at their posts, Paul came up; and he was
just going to tell Bernard of Major Hermann's cap-
ture, when his brother-in-law announced his news:
“I say, Paul, dad's with me!"
Paul gave a start:
“Your father is here? Your father came with
you?”
“Just so; and in the most natural manner. You
must know that he had been looking for an oppor-


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE 201
tunity for some time. By the way, he has been pro-
moted to interpreter lieutenant. ..."
Paul was no longer listening. He merely said to
himself:
“M. d'Andeville is here. ... M. d'Andeville, the
Comtesse Hermine's husband. He must know,
surely. Is she alive or dead? Or has he been the
dupe of a scheming woman to the end and does he
still bear a loving recollection of one who has van-
ished from his life? But no, that's incredible, be-
cause there is that photograph, taken four years
later and sent to him: sent to him from Berlin! So
he knows; and then ...po
Paul was greatly perplexed. The revelations made
by Karl the spy had suddenly revealed M. d'Andeville
in a startling light. And now circumstances were
bringing M. d'Andeville into Paul's presence, at the
very time when Major Hermann had been captured.
Paul turned towards the attic. The major was
lying motionless, with his face against the wall.
“Your father has remained outside?” Paul asked
his brother-in-law.
"Yes, he took the bicycle of a man who was
riding near us and who was slightly wounded. Papa
is seeing to him.”
“Go and fetch him; and, if the lieutenant doesn't
object ..."
He was interrupted by the bursting of a shrapnel
shell the bullets of which riddled the sandbags heaped
up in the front of them. The day was breaking.


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
203
to be here. So I asked leave to accompany the con-
tingent that had been ordered to. ..."
There was a fresh interruption. A shell came
through the roof and shattered the wall on the side
opposite to the canal.
“Any one hurt?”
“No, sir.”
M. d’Andeville went on:
“The strangest part of it was finding Bernard at
your colonel's last night. You can imagine how
glad I was to join the cyclists. It was my only
chance of seeing something of my boy and of shak-
ing you by the hand. . . . And then I had no news
of my poor Élisabeth; and Bernard told me. ..."
"Ah,” said Paul quickly, "has Bernard told you
all that happened at the château?”
"At least, as much as he knew; but there are a
good many things that are difficult to understand ;
and Bernard says that you have more precise de-
tails. For instance, why did Élisabeth stay at the
château?”
“Because she wanted to," said Paul. “I was not
told of her decision until later, by letter.”
"I know. But why didn't you take her with you,
Paul?”
“When I left Ornequin, I made all the necessary
arrangements for her to go.”
“Good. But you ought not to have left Ornequin
without her. All the trouble is due to that."
M. d’Andeville had been speaking with a certain


204
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
acerbity, and, as Paul did not answer, he asked
again:
“Why didn't you take Élisabeth away? Bernard
said that there was something very serious, that you
spoke of exceptional circumstances. Perhaps you
won't mind explaining.”
Paul seemed to suspect a latent hostility in M.
d'Andeville; and this irritated him all the more on
the part of a man whose conduct now appeared to
him so perplexing:
“Do you think,” he said, “that this is quite the
moment?”
“Yes, yes, yes. We may be separated any min-
ute. ..."
Paul did not allow him to finish. He turned
abruptly towards his father-in-law and exclaimed:
“You are right, sir! It's a horrible idea. It
would be terrible if I were not able to reply to your
questions or you to mine. Élisabeth's fate perhaps
depends on the few words which we are about to
speak. For we must know the truth between us.
A single word may bring it to light; and there is
no time to be lost. We must speak out now. ...
Whatever happens.”
His excitement surprised M. d'Andeville, who
asked:
“Wouldn't it be as well to call Bernard over?”
“No, no,” said Paul, “on no account! It's a
thing that he mustn't know about, because it con-
cerns. . .."


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
205
“Because it concerns whom?” asked M. d'Ande-
ville, who was more and more astonished.
A man standing near them was hit by a bullet and
fell. Paul rushed to his assistance; but the man had
been shot through the forehead and was dead. Two
more bullets entered through an opening which was
wider than it need be; and Paul ordered it to be
partly closed up.
M. d'Andeville, who had been helping him, pur-
sued the conversation:
“You were saying that Bernard must not hear
because it concerns. ...".
“His mother,” Paul replied.
“His mother? What do you mean? His mother?
It concerns my wife? I don't understand. ..."
Through the loopholes in the wall they could see
three enemy columns advancing, above the flooded
fields, moving forward on narrow causeways which
converged towards the canal opposite the ferryman's
house.
“We shall fire when they are two hundred yards
from the canal,” said the lieutenant commanding the
volunteers, who had come to inspect the defenses.
“If only their guns don't knock the shanty about
too much!"
“Where are our reinforcements?” asked Paul.
“They'll be here in thirty or forty minutes.
Meantime the seventy-fives are doing good work.”
The shells were flying through space in both direc-
tions, some falling in the midst of the German col-


206
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
umns, others around the blockhouse. Paul ran to
every side, encouraging and directing the men. From
time to time he went to the attic and looked at Major
Hermann, who lay perfectly still. Then Paul re-
turned to his post.
He did not for a second cease to think of the duty
incumbent on him as an officer and a combatant, nor
for a second of what he had to say to M. d'Andeville.
But these two mingled obsessions deprived him of all
lucidity of mind! and he did not know how to come
to an explanation with his father-in-law or how to
unravel the tangled position. M. d’Andeville asked
his question several times. He did not reply.
The lieutenant's voice was raised:
“Attention! ... Present!... Fire! ..."
The command was repeated four times over. The
nearest enemy column, decimated by the bullets,
seemed to waver. But the others came up with it;
and it formed up again.
Two German shells burst against the house. The
frontage were demolished and three men killed.
After the storm, a calm. But Paul had so clear a
sense of the danger which threatened them all that
he was unable to contain himself any longer. Sud-
denly making up his mind, addressing M. d'Ande-
ville without further preamble, he said:
“One word in particular. ... I must know. ...
Are you quite sure that the Comtesse d’Andeville is
dead?” And without waiting for the reply, he went


208 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Certainly, her full length portrait.”
“Showing her with a black lace scarf over her
shoulders?”
“Yes, the kind of scarf she liked wearing."
“And the scarf was fastened in front by a cameo
set in a gold snake?”
“Yes, it was an old cameo which belonged to my
mother and which my wife always wore.”
Paul yielded to thoughtless impulse. M. d'Ande-
ville's assertions seemed to him so many admissions ;
and, trembling with rage, he rapped out:
"Monsieur, you have not forgotten, have you, that
my father was murdered? We often spoke of it, you
and I. He was your friend. Well, the woman who
murdered him and whom I saw, the woman whose
image has stamped itself on my brain wore a black
lace scarf round her shoulders and a cameo set in
a gold snake. And I found this woman's portrait
in your wife's room. Yes, I saw her portrait on
my wedding evening. Do you understand now? Do
you understand or don't you?”
It was a tragic moment between the two men. M.
d'Andeville stood trembling, with his hands clutch-
ing his rifle.
“Why is he trembling?” Paul asked himself; and
his suspicions increased until they became an actual
accusation. “Is it a feeling of protest or his rage
at being unmasked that makes him shake like that?
And am I to look upon him as his wife's accomplice
For, after all. ..."


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE 209
He felt a fierce grip twisting his arm. M. d'Ande-
ville, gray in the face, blurted out:
"How dare you? How dare you suggest that
my wife murdered your father? Why, you must be
drunk! My wife, a saint in the sight of God and
man! And you dare! Oh, I don't know what keeps
me from smashing your face in !"
Paul released himself roughly. The two men,
shaking with a rage which was increased by the
din of the firing and the madness of their quarrel,
were on the verge of coming to blows while the shells
and bullets whistled all around them.
Then a new strip of wall fell to pieces. Paul gave
his orders and, at the same time, thought of Major
Hermann lying in his corner, to whom he could have
brought M. d'Andeville like a criminal who is con-
fronted with his accomplice. But why then did he
not do so?
Suddenly remembering the photograph of the
Comtesse Hermine which he had found on Rosen-
thal's body, he took it from his pocket and thrust
it in front of M. d'Andeville's eyes :
“And this?” he shouted. “Do you know what this
is? . . . There's a date on it, 1902, and you pretend
that the Comtesse Hermine is dead! ... Answer
me, can't you? A photograph taken in Berlin and
sent to you by your wife four years after her death!”
M. d'Andeville staggered. It was as though all
his rage had evaporated and was changing into in-
finite stupefaction. Paul brandished before his face


210
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
the overwhelming proof constituted by that bit of
cardboard. And he heard M. d'Andeville mutter:
“Who can have stolen it from me? It was among
my papers in Paris. ... Why didn't I tear it
up? ..." Then he added, in a very low whisper,
“Oh, Hermine, Hermine, my adored one !"
Surely it was an avowal? But, if so, what was
the meaning of an avowal expressed in those terms
and with that declaration of love for a woman laden
with crime and infamy?
The lieutenant shouted from the ground floor:
“Everybody into the trenches, except ten men.
Delroze, keep the best shots and order independent
firing."
The volunteers, headed by Bernard, hurried down-
stairs. The enemy was approaching the canal, in
spite of the losses which he had sustained. In fact,
on the right and left, knots of pioneers, constantly
renewed, were already striving with might and main
to collect the boats stranded on the bank. The lieu-
tenant in command of the volunteers formed his men
into a first line of defense against the imminent as-
sault, while the sharpshooters in the house had orders
to kill without ceasing under the storm of shells.
One by one, five of these marksmen fell.
Paul and M. d'Andeville were here, there and
everywhere, while consulting one another as to the
commands to be given and the things to be done.
There was not the least chance, in view of their
great inferiority in numbers, that they would be


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
211
able to resist. But there was some hope of their
holding out until the arrival of the reinforcements,
which would ensure the possession of the blockhouse.
The French artillery, finding it impossible to se-
cure an effective aim amid the confusion of the com-
batants, had ceased fire, whereas the German guns
were still bombarding the house; and shells were
bursting at every moment,
Yet another man was wounded. He was carried
into the attic and laid beside Major Hermann, where
he died almost immediately.
Outside, there was fighting on and even in the
water of the canal, in the boats and around them.
There were hand-to-hand contests amid general up-
roar, yells of execration and pain, cries of terror and
shouts of victory. The confusion was so great that
Paul and M. d'Andeville found it difficult to take
aim.
Paul said to his father-in-law:
"I'm afraid we may be done for before assistance
arrives. I am bound therefore to warn you that the
lieutenant has made his arrangements to blow up
the house. As you are here by accident, without
any authorization that gives you the quality or du-
ties of a combatant. ..."
“I am here as a Frenchman,” said M. d'Andeville,
“and I shall stay on to the end.”
“Then perhaps we shall have time to finish what
we have to say, sir. Listen to me. I will be as brief
as I can. But if you should see the least glim-


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
“Élisabeth's diary. ... You'll find it in my kit-
bag in camp ... with a few pages written by
myself ... which will explain. ... But first
you must ... Look, that German officer over
there, bound up ... he's a spy. ... Keep an
eye on him. ... Kill him. ... If not, on the
tenth of January . . . but you will kill him, won't
you?”
Paul could speak no more. Besides, he saw that
M. d'Andeville was not kneeling down to listen to
him or help him, but that, himself shot, with his face
bathed in blood, he was bending double and finally
fell in a huddled heap, uttering moans that grew
fainter and fainter.
A great calm now descended on the big room, while
the rifles crackled outside. The German guns were
no longer firing. The enemy's counter-attack must
be meeting with success; and Paul, incapable of
moving, lay awaiting the terrible explosion foretold
by the lieutenant.
He pronounced Élisabeth's name time after time.
He reflected that no danger threatened her now,
because Major Hermann was also about to die. Be-
sides, her brother Bernard would know how to de-
fend her. But after a while this sort of tranquillity
disappeared, changed into uneasiness and then into
restless anxiety, giving way to a feeling of which
every second that passed increased the torture. He
could not tell whether he was haunted by a night-
mare, by some morbid hallucination. It all hap-


214
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
pened on the side of the attic to which he had
dragged Major Hermann. A soldier's dead body
was lying between them. And it seemed, to his hor-
ror, as if the major had cut his bonds and were
rising to his feet and looking around him.
Paul exerted all his strength to open his eyes
and keep them open. But an ever thicker shadow
veiled them; and through this shadow he perceived,
as one sees a confused sight in the darkness, the
major taking off his cloak, stooping over the body,
removing its blue coat and buttoning it on him-
self. Then he put the dead man's cap on his
head, fastened his scarf round his neck, took the
soldier's rifle, bayonet and cartridges and,
thus transfigured, stepped down the three wooden
stairs.
It was a terrible vision. Paul would have been
glad to doubt his eyes, to believe in some phantom
image born of his fever and delirium. But every-
thing confirmed the reality of what he saw; and it
meant to him the most infernal suffering. The major
was making his escape!
Paul was too weak to contemplate the position in
all its bearings. Was the major thinking of killing
him and of killing M. d'Andeville? Did the major
know that they were there, both of them wounded,
within reach of his hand? Paul never asked himself
these questions. One idea alone obsessed his failing
mind. Major Hermann was escaping. Thanks to
his uniform, he would mingle with the volunteers!


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
215
By the aid of some signal, he would get back to the
Germans! And he would be free! And he would
resume his work of persecution, his deadly work,
against Élisabeth!
Oh, if the explosion had only taken place! If the
ferryman's house could but be blown up and the
major with it!....
Paul still clung to this hope in his half-conscious
condition. Meanwhile his reason was wavering. His
thoughts became more and more confused. And he
swiftly sank into that darkness in which one neither
sees nor hears. ...
Three weeks later the general commanding in chief
stepped from his motor car in front of an old châ-
teau in the Bourbonnais, now transformed into a
military hospital. The officer in charge was wait-
ing for him at the door.
“Does Second Lieutenant Delroze know that I am
coming to see him?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take me to his room.”
Paul Delroze was sitting up. His neck was ban-
daged; but his features were calm and showed no
traces of fatigue. Much moved by the presence of
the great chief whose energy and coolness had saved
France, he rose to the salute. But the general gave
him his hand and exclaimed, in a kind and affection-
ate voice:
“Sit down, Lieutenant Delroze. . .. I say lieu-


216
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
tenant, for you were promoted yesterday. No, no
thanks. By Jove, we are still your debtors! So
ou're up and an, we are still yesterday.
"Why, yes, sir. The wound wasn't much.”
“So much the better. I'm satisfied with all my
officers; but, for all that, we don't find fellows like
you by the dozen. Your colonel has sent in a special
report about you which sets forth such an array of
acts of incomparable bravery that I have half a
mind to break my own rule and to make the report
public.”
"No, please don't, sir.”
“You are right, Delroze. It is the first attribute
of heroism that it likes to remain anonymous; and
it is France alone that must have all the glory for
the time being. So I shall be content for the present
to mention you once more in the orders of the day
and to hand you the cross for which you were already
recommended.”
“I don't know how to thank you, sir."
“In addition, my dear fellow, if there's the least
thing you want, I insist that you should give me
this opportunity of doing it for you."
Paul nodded his head and smiled. All this cordial
kindness and attentiveness were putting him at his
ease.
“But suppose I want too much, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“Very well, sir, I accept. And what I ask is this:
first of all, a fortnight's sick leave, counting from


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE
217
Saturday, the ninth of January, the day on which I
shall be leaving the hospital.”
“That's not a favor, that's a right.”
“I know, sir. But I must have the right to spend
my leave where I please.”
“Very well.”
“And more than that: I must have in my pocket
a permit written in your own hand, sir, which will
give me every latitude to move about as I wish in the
French lines and to call for any assistance that can
be of use to me.”
The general looked at Paul for a moment, and
said:
“That's a serious request you're making, Del-
roze.”
“Yes, sir, I know it is. But the thing I want to
undertake is serious too.”
“All right, I agree. Anything more?"
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Bernard d’Andeville, my
brother-in-law, took part as I did in the action at
the ferryman's house. He was wounded like my-
self and brought to the same hospital, from which
he will probably be discharged at the same time. I
should like him to have the same leave and to re-
ceive permission to accompany me."
“I agree. Anything more?”
“Bernard's father, Comte Stéphane d’Andeville,
second lieutenant interpreter attached to the British
army, was also wounded on that day by my side. I
have learnt that his wound, though serious, is not


THE FERRYMAN'S HOUSE 219
the man before him was not a boaster, but a man of
action and a man of his word, who went straight
ahead and kept his promises. He replied:
“Very well, Delroze, you shall have your list to-
morrow."


CHAPTER XIV
A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR
On the morning of Sunday, the tenth of January,
Lieutenant Delroze and Sergeant d’Andeville stepped
on to the platform at Corvigny, went to call on the
commandant of the town and then took a carriage
in which they drove to the Château d'Ornequin.
“All the same,” said Bernard, stretching out his
legs in the fly, “I never thought that things would
turn out as they have done when I was hit by a splin-
ter of shrapnel between the Yser and the ferryman's
house. What a hot corner it was just then! Be-
lieve me or believe me not, Paul, if our reinforce-
ments hadn't come up, we should have been done for
in another five minutes. We were jolly lucky!”
“We were indeed,” said Paul. “I felt that next
day, when I woke up in a French ambulance !"
“What I can't get over, though,” Bernard con-
tinued, “is the way that blackguard of a Major Her-
mann made off. So you took him prisoner? And
then you saw him unfasten his bonds and escape?
The cheek of the rascal! You may be sure he got
away safe and sound !"
Paul muttered:
"I haven't a doubt of it; and I don't doubt either
220


A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR
221
that he means to carry out his threats against Élisa-
beth.”
“Bosh! We have forty-eight hours before us, as
he gave his pal Karl the tenth of January as the
date of his arrival and he won't act until two days
later."
"And suppose he acts to-day?” said Paul, in a
husky voice.
Notwithstanding his anguish, however, the drive
did not seem long to him. He was at last approach-
ing-and this time really—the object from which
each day of the last four months had removed him to
a greater distance. Ornequin was on the frontier;
and Èbrecourt was but a few minutes from the fron-
tier. He refused to think of the obstacles which would
intervene before he could reach èbrecourt, discover
his wife's retreat and save her. He was alive.
Élisabeth was alive. No obstacles existed between
him and her.
The Château d'Ornequin, or rather what remained
of it-for even the ruins of the château had been
subjected to a fresh bombardment in November
was serving as a cantonment for territorial troops,
whose first line of trenches skirted the frontier.
There was not much fighting on this side, because,
for tactical reasons, it was not to the enemy's ad-
vantage to push too far forward. The defenses
were of equal strength; and a very active watch was
kept on either side.
These were the particulars which Paul obtained


222
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
from the territorial lieutenant with whom he lunched.
“My dear fellow,” concluded the officer, after Paul
had told him the object of his journey, “I am alto-
gether at your service; but, if it's a question of get-
ting from Ornequin to èbrecourt, you can make up
your mind that you won't do it.”
“I shall do it all right.”
“It'll have to be through the air then,” said the
officer, with a laugh.
"No."
“Or underground.”
“Perhaps.”
“There you're wrong. We wanted ourselves to
do some sapping and mining. It was no use. We're
on a deposit of rock in which it's impossible to dig."
It was Paul's turn to smile:
“My dear chap, if you'll just be kind enough to
lend me for one hour four strong men armed with
picks and shovels, I shall be at Èbrecourt to-night."
"I say! Four men to dig a six-mile tunnel through
the rock in an hour!”
“That's ample. Also, you must promise absolute
secrecy both as to the means employed and the rather
curious discoveries to which they are bound to lead.
I shall make a report to the general commanding in
chief; but no one else is to know.”
“Very well, I'll select my four fellows for you
myself. Where am I to bring them to you?”
“On the terrace, near the donjon.”
This terrace commands the Liseron from a height


A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR
223
of some hundred and fifty feet and, in consequence of
a loop in the river, is exactly opposite Corvigny,
whose steeple and the neighboring hills are seen in
the distance. Of the castle-keep nothing remains but
its enormous base, which is continued by the founda-
tion-walls, mingled with natural rocks, which sup-
port the terrace. A garden extends its clumps of
laurels and spindle-trees to the parapet.
It was here that Paul went. Time after time he
strode up and down the esplanade, leaning over the
river and inspecting the blocks that had fallen from
the keep under the mantle of ivy.
“Now then,” said the lieutenant, on arriving with
his men. “Is this your starting-point? I warn you
we are standing with our backs to the frontier.”
"Pooh!” replied Paul, in the same jesting tone.
“All roads lead to Berlin!”
He pointed to a circle which he had marked out
with stakes, and set the men to work:
“Go ahead, my lads."
They began to throw up, within a circle of three
yards in circumference, a soil consisting of vegetable
mold in which, in twenty minutes' time, they had dug
a hole five feet deep. Here they came upon a layer
of stones cemented together; and their work now
became much more difficult, for the cement was of in-
credible hardness and they were only to break it
up by inserting their picks into the cracks. Paul
followed the operations with anxious attention.
After an hour, he told them to stop. He himself


224
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
went down into the hole and then went on digging,
but slowly and as though examining the effect of
every blow that he struck.
“That's it!” he said, drawing himself up.
“What?" asked Bernard.
“The ground on which we are standing is only a
floor of the big buildings that used to adjoin the old
keep, buildings which were razed to the ground cen-
turies ago and on the top of which this garden was
laid out."
“Well?”
"Well, in clearing away the soil, I have broken
through the ceiling of one of the old rooms. Look.”
He took a stone, placed it right in the center of
the narrower opening which he himself had made and
let it drop. The stone disappeared. A dull sound
followed almost immediately.
"All that need now be done is for the men to widen
the entrance. In the meantime, we will go and fetch
a ladder and lights: as much light as possible.”
“We have pine torches,” said the officer.
“That will do capitally.”
Paul was right. When the ladder was let down
and he had descended with the lieutenant and Ber-
nard, they saw a very large hall, whose vaults were
supported by massive pillars which divided it, like
a church of irregular design, into two main naves,
with narrower and lower side-aisles.
But Paul at once called his companions' attention
to the floor of those two naves :


A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR
225
"A concrete flooring, do you see? . . . And, look
there, as I expected, two rails running along one of
the upper galleries ! . . . And here are two more
rails in the other gallery! ..."
“But what does it all mean?” exclaimed Bernard
and the lieutenant.
“It means simply this,” said Paul, “that we have
before us what is evidently the explanation of the
great mystery surrounding the capture of Corvigny
and its two forts.”
"How?”
“Corvigny and its two forts were demolished in a
few minutes, weren't they? Where did those gun-
shots come from, considering that Corvigny is fifteen
miles from the frontier and that not one of the
enemy's guns had crossed the frontier? They came
from here, from this underground fortress.”
"Impossible.”
“Here are the rails on which they moved the two
gigantic pieces which were responsible for the bom-
bardment.”
"I say! You can't bombard from the bottom of a
cavern! Where are the embrasures?"
“The rails will take us there. Show a good light,
Bernard. Look, here's a platform mounted on a
pivot. It's a good size, eh? And here's the other
platform.”
“But the embrasures?"
“In front of you, Bernard.”
“That's a wall.”


226
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
"It's the wall which, together with the rock of the
hill, supports the terrace above the Liseron, oppo-
site Corvigny. And two circular breaches were made
in the wall and afterwards closed up again. You
can see the traces of the closing quite plainly.”
Bernard and the lieutenant could not get over
their astonishment:
“Why, it's an enormous work!” said the officer.
“Absolutely colossal!" replied Paul. “But don't
be too much surprised, my dear fellow. It was begun
sixteen or seventeen years ago, to my own knowl-
edge. Besides, as I told you, part of the work was
already done, because we are in the lower rooms of
the old Ornequin buildings; and, having found them,
all they had to do was to arrange them according
to the object which they had in view. There is some-
thing much more astounding, though!”
“What is that?”
“The tunnel which they had to build in order to
bring their two pieces here."
"A tunnel?”
“Well, of course! How do you expect they got
here? Let's follow the rails, in the other direction,
and we'll soon come to the tunnel.”
As he anticipated, the two sets of rails joined a
little way back and they saw the yawning entrance
to a tunnel about nine feet wide and the same height.
It dipped under ground, sloping very gently. The
walls were of brick. No damp oozed through the
walls; and the ground itself was perfectly dry.


228
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
showed them the steps of a staircase on their right.
"First turning,” remarked Paul. “I take it there
must be at least three of them.”
“Where does the staircase lead to ?”
“To the château, obviously. And, if you want to
know to what part, I say, to the room with the
portrait. There's no doubt that this is the way by
which Major Hermann entered the château on the
evening of the day when we attacked it. He had his
accomplice Karl with him. Seeing our names writ-
ten on the wall, they stabbed the two men sleeping
in the room, Private Gériflour and his comrade.”
Bernard d’Andeville stopped short:
“Look here, Paul, you've been bewildering me all
day. You're acting with the most extraordinary in-
sight, going straight to the right place at which to
dig, describing all that happened as if you had been
there, knowing everything and foreseeing everything.
I never suspected you of that particular gift. Have
you been studying Sherlock Holmes ?”
“Not even Arsène Lupin,” said Paul, moving on
again. “But I've been ill and I have thought things
over. Certain passages in Élisabeth's diary, in
which she spoke of her perplexing discoveries, gave
me the first hint. I began by asking myself why
the Germans had taken such pains to create a desert
all around the château. And in this way, putting
two and two together, drawing inference after infer-
ence, examining the past and the present, remember-
ing my meeting with the German Emperor and a


A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR 233
evidently corresponded by electric wires with the
five mine-chambers in the tunnel.
When they passed on, Bernard and Paul continued
to follow the rails along the bed of a narrow chan-
nel, hollowed out of the rock, which led them to an
open space bright with many lights. A whole vil-
lage lay before them, consisting of barracks in-
habited by soldiers whom they saw moving to and
fro. They went outside it. They then noticed the
sound of a motor-car and the blinding rays of two
head-lights; and, after climbing a fence and passing
through a shrubbery, they saw a large villa lit up
from top to bottom.
The car stopped in front of the doorstep, where
some footmen were standing, as well as a guard of
soldiers. Two officers and a lady wrapped in furs
alighted. When the car turned, the lights revealed
a large garden, contained within very high walls.
"It is just as I thought,” said Paul. “This forms
the counterpart of the Château d'Ornequin. At
either end there are strong walls which allow work
to be done unobserved by prying eyes. The terminus
is in the open air here, instead of underground, as
it is down there; but at least the quarries, the work-
yards, the barracks, the garrison, the villa belong-
ing to the staff, the garden, the stables, all this mili-
tary organization is surrounded by walls and no
doubt guarded on the outside by sentries. That ex-
plains why one is able to move about so freely in-
side."


234
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
At that moment, a second motor-car set down
three officers and then joined the other in the coach-
house.
“There's a dinner-party on,” said Bernard.
They resolved to approach as near as they could,
under cover of the thick clumps of shrubs planted
along the carriage-drive which surrounded the house.
They waited for some time; and then, from the
sound of voices and laughter that came from the
ground-floor, at the back, they concluded that this
must be the scene of the banquet and that the guests
were sitting down to dinner. There were bursts of
song, shouts of applause. Outside, nothing stirred.
The garden was deserted.
“The place seems quiet,” said Paul. “I shall ask
you to give me a leg up and to keep hidden your-
self.”
“You want to climb to the ledge of one of the
windows? What about the shutters?”
“I don't expect they're very close. You can see
the light shining through the middle.”
“Well, but why are you doing it? There is no
reason to bother about this house more than any
other.”
“Yes, there is. You yourself told me that one of
the wounded prisoners said Prince Conrad had taken
up his quarters in a villa outside Èbrecourt. Now
this one, standing in the middle of a sort of en-
trenched camp and at the entrance to the tunnel,
seems to me marked out. .."


A MASTERPIECE OF KULTUR
235
“Not to mention this really princely dinner-
party,” said Bernard, laughing. “You're right. Up
you go."
They crossed the walk. With Bernard's assist-
ance, Paul was easily able to grip the ledge above
the basement floor and to hoist himself to the stone
balcony.
“That's it,” he said. “Go back to where we were
and whistle in case of danger."
After bestriding the balustrade, he carefully
loosened one of the shutters by passing first his
fingers and then his hand through the intervening
space; and he succeeded in unfastening the bolt.
The curtains, being crossed inside, enabled him to
move about unseen; but they were open at the top,
leaving an inverted triangle through which he could
see by climbing on to the balustrade.
He did so and then bent forward and looked.
The sight that met his eyes was such and gave
him so horrible a blow that his legs began to shake
beneath him. ...


CHAPTER XV
PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY
A TABLE running parallel with the three windows
of the room. An incredible collection of bottles, de
canters and glasses, hardly leaving room for the
dishes of cake and fruit. Ornamental side dishes
flanked by bottles of champagne. A basket of flowers
surrounded by liqueur-bottles.
Twenty persons were seated at table, including
half-a-dozen women in low-necked dresses. The
others were officers, covered with gold lace and or-
ders.
In the middle, facing the window, sat Prince Con-
rad, presiding over the banquet, with a lady on his
right and another on his left. And it was the sight
of these three, brought together in the most improb-
able defiance of the logic of things, that caused Paul
to undergo a torture which was renewed from mo-
ment to moment.
That one of the two women should be there, on
the prince's right, sitting stiff-backed in her plum-
colored stuff gown, with a black-lace scarf half-
hiding her short hair, was easy to understand. But
236


PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY 237
the other woman, to whom Prince Conrad kept turn-
ing with a clumsy affectation of gallantry, that
woman whom Paul contemplated with horror-struck
eyes and whom he would have liked to strangle where
she sat, what was she doing there? What was Élisa-
beth doing in the midst of those tipsy officers and
dubious German women, beside Prince Conrad and
beside the monstrous creature who was pursuing her
with her hatred?
The Comtesse Hermine d’Andeville! Élisabeth
d'Andeville! The mother and the daughter! There
was no plausible argument that would allow Paul to
apply any other description to the prince's two com-
panions. And something happened to give this de-
scription its full value of hideous reality when, a
moment later, Prince Conrad rose to his feet, with a
glass of champagne in his hand, and shouted:
“Hoch! Hoch! Hoch! Here's to the health of our
very wideawake friend !"
"Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!” shouted the band of guests.
“The Comtesse Hermine!”
She took up a glass, emptied it at a draught and
began to make a speech which Paul could not hear,
while the others did their best to listen with a fervent
attention which was all the more meritorious in view
of their copious libations.
And Élisabeth also sat and listened. She was
wearing a gray gown which Paul knew well, quite a
simple frock, cut very high in the reck and with
sleeves that came down to her wrists. But from her
attention this did their best to lich could not hear.


238 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
throat a wonderful necklace, consisting of four rows
of large pearls, hung over her bodice; and this neck-
lace Paul did not know.
“The wretch! The wretch!” he spluttered.
She was smiling. Yes, he saw on the younger
woman's lips a smile provoked by something that
Prince Conrad said as he bent over her. And the
prince gave such a boisterous laugh that the Com-
tesse Hermine, who was still speaking, called him to
order by tapping him on the hand with her fan.
The whole scene was a horrible one for Paul; and
he suffered such scorching anguish that his one idea
was to get away, to see no more, to abandon the
struggle and to drive this hateful wife of his out of
his life and out of his memory.
“She is a true daughter of the Comtesse Her-
mine,” he thought, in despair.
He was on the point of going, when a little inci-
dent held him back. Élisabeth raised to her eyes a
handkerchief which she held crumpled in the hollow
of her hand and furtively wiped away a tear that
was ready to flow. At the same time he perceived
that she was terribly pale, not with a factitious
pallor, which until then he had attributed to the
crudeness of the light, but with a real and deathly
pallor. It was as though all the blood had fled from
her poor face. And, after all, what a melancholy
smile was that which had twisted her lips in re-
sponse to the prince's jest!
“But then what is she doing here?” Paul asked


PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY 239
himself. “Am I not entitled to regard her as guilty
and to suppose that her tears are due to remorse?
She has become cowardly through fear, threats and
the wish to live; and now she is crying.”
He continued to insult her in his thoughts; but
gradually he felt a great pity steal over him for the
woman who had not had the strength to endure her,
intolerable trials.
Meanwhile, the Comtesse Hermine made an end
of her speech. She drank again, swallowing bumper
after bumper and each time flinging her glass behind
her. The officers and their women followed her ex-
ample. Enthusiastic Hochs were raised from every
side; and, in a drunken fit of patriotism, the prince
got on his feet and struck up “Deutschland über
Alles,” the others joining in the chorus with a sort
of frenzy.
Élisabeth had put her elbows on the table and her
hands before her face, as though trying to isolate
herself from her surroundings. But the prince, still
standing and bawling, took her two arms and
brutally forced them apart:
“None of your monkey-tricks, pretty one !"
She gave a movement of repulsion which threw
him beside himself.
“What's all this? Sulking? And blubbering? A
nice thing! And, bless my soul, what do I see?
Madame's glass is full!”
He took the glass and, with a shaky hand, put it
to Élisabeth's lips:


240
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Drink my health, child! The health of your lord
and master! What's this? You refuse? . . . Ah,
I see, you don't like champagne! Quite right! Down
with champagne! What you want is hock, good
Rhine wine, eh, baby? You're thinking of one of
your country's songs: 'We held it once, your Ger-
man Rhine! It babbled in our brimming glass !
Rhine wine, there!"
With one movement, the officers rose and started
shouting:
Die Wacht am Rhein
“They shall not have our German Rhine,
Tho' like a flock of hungry crows
They shriek their lust ...”
“No, they shan't have it,” rejoined the prince,
angrily, “but you shall drink it, little one!”
Another glass had been filled. Once more he tried
to force Élisabeth to lift it to her lips; and, when she
pushed it away, he began to whisper in her ear, while
the wine dribbled over her dress.
Everybody was silent, waiting to see what would
happen. Élisabeth turned paler than ever, but did
not move. The prince, leaning over her, showed the
face of a brute who alternately threatens, pleads,
commands and insults. It was a heart-rending sight.
Paul would have given his life to see Élisabeth yield
to a fit of disgust and stab her insulter. Instead of
that, she threw back her head, closed her eyes and


PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY 241
half-swooning, accepted the chalice and swallowed a
few mouthfuls.
The prince gave a shout of triumph as he waved
the glass on high; then he put his lips, avidly, to
the place at which she had drunk and emptied it at a
draught.
“Hoch! Hoch!” he roared. “Up, comrades!
Every one on his chair, with one foot on the table!
Up, conquerors of the world! Sing the strength
of Germany! Sing German gallantry!
“ 'The Rhine, the free, the German Rhine
They shall not have while gallant boys
Still tell of love to slender maids. ...!
“Élisabeth, I have drunk Rhine wine from your
glass. Élisabeth, I know what you are thinking.
Her thoughts are of love, my comrades! I am the
master! Oh, Parisienne! ... You dear little
Parisienne! ... It's Paris we want! ... Oh,
Paris, Paris! ..."
His foot slipped. The glass fell from his hand and
smashed against the neck of a bottle. He dropped
on his knees on the table, amid a crash of broken
plates and glasses, seized a flask of liqueur and
rolled to the floor, stammering:
“We want Paris. . .. Paris and Calais. ...
Papa said so. ... The Arc de Triomphe! ...
The Café Anglais! ... A cabinet particulier at the
Café Anglais! ..."


242
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
The uproar suddenly stopped. The Comtesse Her-
mine's imperious voice was raised in command:
“Go away, all of you! Go home! And be quick
about it, gentlemen, if you please.”
The pfficers and the ladies soon made themselves
scarce. Outside, on the other side of the house,
there was a great deal of whistling. The cars at
once drove up from the garage. A general depar-
ture took place.
Meanwhile the Countess had beckoned to the ser-
vants and, pointing to Prince Conrad, said:
“Carry him to his room.”
The prince was removed at once. Then the Com-
tesse Hermine went up to Élisabeth.
Not five minutes had elapsed since the prince
rolled under the table; and, after the din of the
banquet, a great silence reigned in the disorderly
room where the two women were now by themselves.
Élisabeth had once more hidden her head in her
hands and was weeping violently with sobs that
shook her shoulders. The Comtesse Hermine sat
down Beside her and gently touched her on the
arm.
The two women looked at each other without a
word. It was a strange glance that they exchanged,
a glance laden with mutual hatred. Paul did not
take his eyes from them. As he watched the two
of them, he could not doubt that they had met before
and that the words which they were about to speak
were but the sequel and conclusion of some earlier


PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY 243
discussion. But what discussion? And what did
Élisabeth know of the Comtesse Hermine? Did she
accept that woman, for whom she felt such loathing,
as her mother?
Never were two human beings distinguished by a
greater difference in physical appearance and above
all by expressions of face denoting more opposite
natures. And yet how powerful was the series of
proofs that linked them together! These were no
longer proofs, but rather the factors of so actual a
reality that Paul did not even dream of discussing
them. Besides, M. d’Andeville's confusion when con-
fronted with the countess' photograph, a photo-
graph taken in Berlin some years after her pretended
death, showed that M. d’Andeville was an accessory
to that pretended death and perhaps an accessory
to many other things.
And Paul came back to the question provoked
by the agonizing encounter between the mother and
daughter: what did Élisabeth know of it all? What
insight had she been able to obtain into the whole
monstrous conglomeration of shame, infamy, treach-
ery and crime? Was she accusing her mother? And,
feeling herself crushed under the weight of the
crimes, did she hold her responsible for her own
lack of courage?
“Yes, of course she does,” thought Paul. “But
why so much hatred? There is a hatred between
them which only death can quench. And the longing
to kill is perhaps even more violent in the eyes of


244
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Élisabeth than in those of the woman who has come
to kill her.”
Paul felt this impression so keenly that he really
expected one or the other to take some immediate
action; and he began to cast about for a means of
saving Élisabeth. But an utterly unforeseen thing
happened. The Comtesse Hermine took from her
pocket one of those large road-maps which motor-
ists use, placed her finger at one spot, followed the
red line of a road to another spot and, stopping,
spoke a few words that seemed to drive Élisabeth
mad with delight.
She seized the countess by the arm and began to
talk to her feverishly, in words interrupted by alter-
nate laughing and sobbing, while the countess nodded
her head and seemed to be saying:
“That's all right. . . . We are agreed. ...
Everything shall be as you wish. ..."
Paul thought that Élisabeth was actually going
to kiss her enemy's hand, for she seemed overcome
with joy and gratitude; and he was anxiously won-
dering into what new trap the poor thing had fallen,
when the countess rose, walked to a door and opened
it.
She beckoned to some one outside and then came
back again.
A man entered, dressed in uniform. And Paul
now understood. The man whom the Comtesse Her-
mine was admitting was Karl the spy, her confed-
erate, the agent of her designs, the man whom sbe


248
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
soldiers. Its head-lamps, while lighting up one part
of the garden, left the spot where Paul and Bernard
stood in darkness.
A woman came down the steps and disappeared
inside the car.
“Élisabeth,” said Paul. “And here comes
Karl. ..."
The spy stopped on the bottom step and gave his
orders to the soldier who acted as chauffeur. Paul
caught a syllable here and there.
Their departure was imminent. Another moment
and, if Paul raised no obstacle, the car would carry
off the assassin and his victim. It was a horrible
minute, for Paul Delroze felt all the danger attend-
ing an interference which would not even possess the
merit of being effective, since Karl's death would
not prevent the Comtesse Hermine from pursuing her
ends.
Bernard whispered:
“Surely you don't mean to carry away Élisabeth?
There's a whole picket of sentries there."
“I mean to do only one thing, to do for Karl.”
“And then?”
“Then they'll take us prisoners. We shall be
questioned, cross-examined; there will be a scandal.
Prince Conrad will take the matter up."
“And we shall be shot. I confess that your
plan ..."
“Can you propose a better one?”
He broke off. Karl the spy had flown into a rage


250 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
great-coat and his cap. I would rather have avoided
this disguise; but, if you want to be sure of a thing,
you mustn't stick at the means.”
“Then you're going to risk it?” asked Bernard.
“Suppose Karl doesn't recognize his chauf-
feur?”
“He won't even think of looking at him.”
“But if he speaks to you?”
“I shan't answer. Besides, once we are outside
the grounds, I shall have nothing to fear from him.”
“And what am I to do?”
“You? Bind your prisoner carefully and lock
him up in some safe place. Then go back to the
shrubbery beyond the window with the balcony. I
hope to join you there with Élisabeth some time
during the middle of the night; and we shall simply
have to go back by the tunnel. If by accident you
don't see me return ..."
“Well?"
“Well, then go back alone before it gets
light.”
“But ..."
Paul was already moving away. He was in the
mood in which a man refuses to consider the actions
which he has decided to perform. Moreover, the
event seemed to prove that he was right. Karl re-
ceived him with abusive language, but without paying
the least attention to this supernumerary for whom
he could not show enough contempt. The spy put on
his fur-coat, sat down at the wheel and began to


PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY 251
handle the levers while Paul took his seat beside
him.
The car was starting, when a voice from the door-
step called, in a tone of command:
“Karl! Stop!”
Paul felt a moment's anxiety. It was the Com-
tesse Hermine. She went up to the spy and, lower-
ing her voice, said, in French:
"I want you, Karl, to be sure . . . But your
driver doesn't know French, does he?”
“He hardly knows German, Excellenz. He's an
idiot. You can speak freely.”
“What I was going to say is, don't use more than
ten drops out of the bottle, else. ..."
“Very well, Excellenz. Anything more?”
“Write to me in a week's time if everything has
gone off well. Write to our Paris address and not
before: it would be useless."
“Then you're going back to France, Excellenz?”
“Yes, my plan is ripe.”
“The same plan?”
“Yes. The weather is in our favor. It has been
raining for days and the staff have told me that they
mean to act on their side. So I shall be there to-
morrow evening; and it will only need a touch of
the thumb ..."
“That's it, a touch of the thumb, no more. I've
worked at it myself and everything's ready. But
you spoke to me of another plan, to complete the
first; and I confess that that one ..."


252
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
"It's got to be done. Luck is turning against us.
If I succeed, it will be the end of the run on the
black.”
“And have you the Kaiser's consent?”
“I didn't ask for it. It's one of those undertak-
ings one doesn't talk about.”
“But this one is terribly dangerous, Excellenz."
“Can't be helped."
“Sha'n't you want me over there, Excellenz?”
“No. Get rid of the chit for us. That will be
enough for the present. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Excellenz."
The spy released the brakes. The car started.
The drive which ran round the central lawn led
to a lodge which stood beside the garden-gate and
which served as a guard-room. The high walls sur-
rounding the grounds rose on either side of it.
An officer came out of the lodge. Karl gave the
pass-word, “Hohenstaufen.” The gate was opened
and the motor dashed down a high-road which first
passed through the little town of Èbrecourt and
next wound among low hills.
So Paul Delroze, at an hour before midnight, was
alone in the open country, with Élisabeth and Karl
the spy. If he succeeded in mastering the spy, as
he did not doubt that he could, Elisabeth would be
free. There would then remain nothing to do but
to return to Prince Conrad's villa, with the aid of
the pass-word, and pick up Bernard there. Once
the adventure was completed in accordance with


256
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Then he was silent. A few convulsions, a dying
gasp and that was all.
Paul had leapt to his feet. He ran to the woman
who had saved his life and who was still holding
her revolver in her hand:
“Élisabeth !” he cried, wild with delight.
But he stopped, with his arms outstretched. In
the dark, the woman's figure did not seem to him to
be Élisabeth's, but a taller and broader figure. He
blurted out, in a tone of infinite anguish:
“Élisabeth ... is it you? ... Is it really
you?
And at the same time he intuitively knew the an-
swer which he was about to hear:
“No,” said the woman, “Mme. Delroze started a
little before us, in another motor. Karl and I were
to join her.”
Paul remembered that car, of which he and Ber-
nard had thought that he heard the sound when
going round the villa. As the two starts had taken
place with an interval of a few minutes at most be-
tween them, he cried :
“Let us be quick then and lose no time. ... By
putting on speed, we shall be sure to catch
them. ..."
But the woman at once objected:
“It's impossible, because the two cars have taken
different roads."
“What does that matter, if they lead to the same
point. Where are they taking Mme. Delroze?"


PRINCE CONRAD MAKES MERRY 257
“To a castle belonging to the Comtesse Hermine.”
“And where is that castle?”
“I don't know." ;
“You don't know? But this is terrible! At least,
you know its name.
“No, I don't. Karl never told me.”


CHAPTER XVI
THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
In the terrible state of distress into which those
last words threw him, Paul felt the need of some
immediate action, even as he had done at the sight
of the banquet given by Prince Conrad. Certainly,
all hope was lost. His plan, which was to use the
tunnel before the alarm was raised, his plan was
shattered. Granting that he succeeded in finding
Élisabeth and delivering her, a very unlikely contin-
gency, at what moment would this take place? And
how was he afterwards to escape the enemy and re-
turn to France ?
No, henceforward space and time were both
against him. His defeat was such that there was
nothing for it but to resign himself and await the
final blow.
And yet he did not flinch. He saw that any weak-
ness would be irreparable. The impulse that had
carried him so far must be continued unchecked and
with more vigor than ever.
He walked up to the spy. The woman was stoop-
ing over the body and examining it by the light of
one of the lamps which she had taken down.
258


260
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Well, I know her. Not for long, only since to-
day. This morning, Karl, on his way from Bel-
gium, passed through the town where I was and took
me to Prince Conrad's. He told me I was to be
lady's maid to a French lady whom we were going
to take to a castle. I knew what that meant. I
should once more have to be his accomplice, to in-
spire confidence. And then I saw that French lady,
I saw her crying; and she was so gentle and kind
that I felt sorry for her. I promised to rescue
her ... Only, I never thought that it would be in
this way, by killing Karl. ..."
She drew herself up suddenly and said, in a hard
voice:
“But it had to be, sir. It was bound to happen,
for I knew too much about him. It had to be he or
I. ... It was he ... and I can't help it and I'm
not sorry. ... He was the wickedest wretch on
earth; and, with people like him, one mustn't hesi-
tate. No, I am not sorry.”
Paul asked:
“He was devoted to the Comtesse Hermine, was
he not?"
She shuddered and lowered her voice to reply:
“Oh, don't speak of her, please! She is more
terrible still; and she is still alive. Ah, if she should
ever suspect!”
“Who is the woman?”
“How can I tell? She comes and goes, she is the
mistress wherever she may be. . . . People obey her


262
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
road-side, rolled it in and covered it with dead
branches.
“I shall go back to the villa,” he said. “You
walk on until you come to the first cluster of houses.
Wake the people and tell them the story of how Karl
was murdered by his chauffeur and how you ran
away. The time which it will take to inform the
police, to question you and to telephone to the villa
is more than I need."
She took alarm:
“But the Comtesse Hermine?
“Have no fear there. Granting that I do not de-
prive her of her power of doing mischief, how could
she suspect you, when the police-investigations will
hold me alone to account for everything? Besides,
we have no choice.”
And, without more words, he started the engine,
took his seat at the wheel and, in spite of the woman's
frightened entreaties, drove off.
He drove off with the same eagerness and decision
as though he were fulfilling the conditions of
some new plan of which he had fixed every detail be-
forehand and as though he felt sure of its suc-
cess.
“I shall see the countess," he said to himself. “She
will either be anxious as to Karl's fate and want me
to take her to him at once or she will see me in one
of the rooms in the villa. In either case I shall find
a method of compelling her to reveal the name of
the castle in which Élisabeth is a prisoner. I shall


264
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“You're by yourself?” said Bernard, anxiously.
“Yes, the job failed. Élisabeth was in an earlier
motor.”
“Yes, but it can be put right. And you ...
what about the chauffeur?”
“He's safely hidden away. No one will see him
... at least not before the morning, when other
chauffeurs come to the garage.”
“Very well. Anything else?”
“There was a patrol in the grounds an hour ago.
I managed to keep out of sight.”
“And then ?”
“Then I made my way as far as the tunnel. The
men were beginning to stir. Besides, there was some-
thing that made them jolly well pull themselves to-
gether!"
“What was that?”
“The sudden arrival of a certain person of our
acquaintance, the woman I met at Corvigny, who is
80 remarkably like Major Hermann.”
“Was she going the rounds?”
“No, she was leaving."
“Yes, I know, she means to leave.”
“She has left.”
“Oh, nonsense! I can't believe that. There was
no immediate hurry about her departure for
France.”
“I saw her go, though."
“How? By what road?”


THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
265
“The tunnel, of course! Do you imagine that
the tunnel serves no further purpose? That was
the road she took, before my eyes, under the most
comfortable conditions, in an electric trolley driven
by a brakesman. No doubt, since the object of her
journey was, as you say, to get to France, they
shunted her on to the Corvigny branch. That was
two hours ago. I heard the trolley come back.”
The disappearance of the Comtesse Hermine was
a fresh blow to Paul. How was he now to find, how
to deliver Élisabeth? What clue could he trust in
this darkness, in which each of his efforts was ending
in disaster?
He pulled himself together, made an act of will
and resolved to persevere in the adventure until he
attained his object. He asked Bernard if he had
seen nothing more.
“No, nothing."
“Nobody going or coming in the garden?”
“No. The servants have gone to bed. The lights
are out.”
“All the lights?”
“All except one, there, over our heads."
The light was on the first floor, at a window sit-
uated above the window through which Paul had
watched Prince Conrad's supper-party. He asked:
“Was that light put on while I was up on the
balcony?”
“Yes, towards the end."
"From what I was told,” Paul muttered, “that


266
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
must be Prince Conrad's room. He's drunk and
had to be carried upstairs.”
“Yes, I saw some shadows at that time; and noth-
ing has moved since.”
“He's evidently sleeping off his champagne. Oh,
if one could only see, if one could get into the room!”
“That's easily done,” said Bernard.
“How?"
“Through the next room, which must be the dress-
ing-room. They've left the window open, no doubt
to give the prince a little air.”
“But I should want a ladder ..."
“There's one hanging on the wall of the coach-
house. Shall I get it for you?”
“Yes, do,” said Paul eagerly. “Be quick.”
A whole new scheme was taking shape in his mind,
similar in some respects to his first plan of cam-
paign and likely, he thought, to lead to a successful
issue.
He made certain that the approaches to the villa
on either side were deserted and that none of the
soldiers on guard had moved away from the front-
door. Then, when Bernard was back, he placed the
ladder in position and leant it against the wall.
They went up.
The open window belonged, as they expected, to
the dressing-room and the light from the bedroom
showed through the open door. Not a sound came
from that other room except a loud snoring. Paul
put his head through the doorway.


THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
267
Prince Conrad was lying fast asleep across his
bed, like a loose-jointed doll, clad in his uniform, the
front of which was covered with stains. He was
sleeping so soundly that Paul was able to examine
the room at his ease. There was a sort of little
lobby between it and the passage, with a door at
either end. He locked and bolted both doors, so
that they were now alone with Prince Conrad, while
it was impossible for them to be heard from the out-
side.
“Come on," said Paul, when they had apportioned
the work to be done.
And he placed a twisted towel over the prince's
face and tried to insert the ends into his mouth while
Bernard bound his wrists and ankles with some more
towels. All this was done in silence. The prince
offered no resistance and uttered not a cry. He
had opened his eyes and lay staring at his aggres-
sors with the air of a man who does not understand
what is happening to him, but is seized with increas-
ing dread as he becomes aware of his danger.
"Not much pluck about William's son and heir,"
chuckled Bernard. “Lord, what a funk he's in!
Hi, young-fellow-my-lad, pull yourself together!
Where's your smelling-bottle?”
Paul had at last succeeded in cramming half the
towel into his mouth. He lifted him up and said:
“Now let's be off.”
“What do you propose to do?”
“Take him away,"


268
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Where to?”
“To France.”
“To France?”
“Well, of course. We've got him; he'll have to
help us.”
“They won't let him through."
“And the tunnel?”
“Out of the question. They're keeping too close
a watch now.”
“We shall see.”
He took his revolver and pointed it at Prince
Conrad:
“Listen to me,” he said. “Your head is too mud-
dled, I dare say, to take in any questions. But a
revolver is easy to understand, isn't it? It talks a
very plain language, even to a man who is drunk
and shaking all over with fright. Well, if you don't
come with me quietly, if you attempt to struggle or
to make a noise, if my friend and I are in danger
for a single moment, you're done for. You can feel
the barrel of my revolver on your temple: Well, it's
there to blow out your brains. Do you agree to my
conditions?”
The prince nodded his head.
“Good,” said Paul. “Bernard, undo his legs, but
fasten his arms along his body. ... That's it.
... And now let's be off.”
The descent of the ladder was easily accomplished
and they walked through the shrubberies to the fence
which separated the garden from the yard contain-


THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
269
ing the barracks. Here they handed the prince
across to each other, like a parcel, and then, taking
the same road as when they came, they reached the
quarries.
The night was bright enough to allow them to
see their way; and, moreover, they had in front of
them a diffused glow which seemed to rise from the
guard-house at the entrance to the tunnel. And
indeed all the lights there were burning; and
the men were standing outside the shed, drinking
coffee.
A soldier was pacing up and down in front of
the tunnel, with his rifle on his shoulder.
“We are two,” whispered Bernard. “There are
six of them; and, at the first shot fired, they will be
joined by some hundreds of Boches who are quar-
tered five minutes away. It's a bit of an unequal
struggle, what do you say?"
What increased the difficulty to the point of
making it insuperable was that they were not really
two but three and that their prisoner hampered them
most terribly. With him it was impossible to hurry,
impossible to run away. They would have to think
of some stratagem to help them.
Slowly, cautiously, stealing along in such a way
that not a stone rolled from under their footsteps
or the prince's, they described a circle around the
lighted space which brought them, after an hour,
close to the tunnel, under the rocky slopes against
which its first buttresses were built.


270
THE
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
“Stay there,” said Paul to Bernard, speaking very
low, but just loud enough for the prince to hear.
“Stay where you are and remember my instructions.
First of all, take charge of the prince, with your
revolver in your right hand and with your left hand
on his collar. If he struggles, break his head. That
will be a bad business for us, but just as bad for him.
I shall go back to a certain distance from the shed
and draw off the five men on guard. Then the man
doing sentry down there will either join the rest, in
which case you go on with the prince, or else he will
obey orders and remain at his post, in which case
you fire at him and wound him . . . and go on with
the prince.”
“Yes, I shall go on, but the Boches will come after
me and catch us up.”
“No, they won't.”
“If you say so. ..."
“Very well, that's understood. And you, sir,"
said Paul to the prince, “do you understand? Abso-
lute submission; if not, the least carelessness, a mere
mistake may cost you your life.”
Bernard whispered in his brother-in-law's ear:
“I've picked up a rope; I shall fasten it round his
neck; and, if he jibs, he'll feel a sharp tug to recall
him to the true state of things. Only, Paul, I warn
you that, if he takes it into his head to struggle, I
am incapable of killing him just like that, in cold
blood.”
"Don't worry. He's too much afraid to struggle.


THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
271
He'll go with you like a limb to the other end of the
tunnel. When you get there, lock him up in some
corner of the château, but don't tell any one who he
is.”
“And you, Paul?”
“Never mind about me."
“Still ..."
“We both stand the same risk. We're going to
play a terribly dangerous game and there's every
chance of our losing it. But, if we win, it means
Élisabeth's safety. So we must go for it boldly.
Good-bye, Bernard, for the present. In ten minutes
everything will be settled one way or the other.”
They embraced and Paul walked away.
As he had said, this one last effort could succeed
only through promptness and audacity; and it had
to be made in the spirit in which a man makes a
desperate move. Ten minutes more would see the
end of the adventure. Ten minutes and he would be
either victorious or a dead man.
Every action which he performed from that mo-
ment was as orderly and methodical as if he had had
time to think it out carefully and to ensure its in-
evitable success, whereas in reality he was forming a
series of separate decisions as he went along and as
the tragic circumstances seemed to call for them.
Taking a roundabout way and keeping to the
slopes of the mounds formed by the sand thrown up
in the works, he reached the hollow communication-
road between the quarries and the garrison-camp.


THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
273
Prince Conrad. Perhaps that man would come as
well. Or else perhaps Bernard would get rid of him
without using his revolver and therefore without at-
tracting attention.
And Paul, gradually raising his voice, was splut-
tering out vague explanations, which only irritated
without enlightening the corporal, when a shot rang
out, followed by two others.
For the moment the corporal hesitated, not know-
ing for certain where the sound came from. The
men stood away from Paul and listened. Thereupon
he passed through them and walked straight on,
without their realizing, in the darkness, that it was
he who was moving away. Then, at the first turn,
he started running and reached the shed in a few
strides.
Twenty yards in front of him, at the mouth of
the tunnel, he saw Bernard struggling with Prince
Conrad, who was trying to escape. Near them, the
sentry was dragging himself along the ground and
moaning.
Paul saw clearly what he had to do. To lend
Bernard a hand and with him attempt to run the
risk of flight would have been madness, because their
enemies would inevitably have caught them up and
in any case Prince Conrad would have been set free.
No, the essential thing was to stop the rush of the
five other men, whose shadows were already appear-
ing at the bend in the road, and thus to enable Ber-
nard to get away with the prince.


274
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Half-hidden behind the shed, he aimed his revol-
ver at them and cried:
“Halt!”
The corporal did not obey and ran on into the
belt of light. Paul fired. The German fell, but only
wounded, for he began to command in a savage tone:
"Forward! Go for him! Forward, can't you,
you funks!”
The men did not stir a step. Paul seized a rifle
from the stack which they had made of theirs near
the shed and, while taking aim at them, was able to
give a glance backwards and to see that Bernard
had at last mastered Prince Conrad and was leading
him well into the tunnel.
“It's only a question of holding out for five min-
utes," thought Paul, “so that Bernard may go as
far as possible.”
And he was so calm at this moment that he could
have counted those minutes by the steady beating
of his pulse.
"Forward! Rush at him! Forward !" the cor-
poral kept clamoring, having doubtless seen the
figures of the two fugitives, though without recogniz-
ing Prince Conrad.
Rising to his knees, he fired a revolver-shot at
Paul, who replied by breaking his arm with a bullet.
And yet the corporal went on shouting at the top of
his voice:
“Forward! There are two of them making off
through the tunnel! Forward! Here comes help!"


THE IMPOSSIBLE STRUGGLE
275
It was half-a-dozen soldiers from the barracks,
who had run up at the sound of the shooting. Paul
had now made his way into the shed. He broke a
window-pane and fired three shots. The soldiers
made for shelter; but others arrived, took their
orders from the corporal and dispersed; and Paul
saw them scrambling up the adjoining slopes in order
to head him off. He fired his rifle a few more times ;
but what was the good? All hope of resistance had
long since disappeared.
He persevered, however, killing his adversaries at
intervals, firing incessantly and thus gaining all the
time possible. But he saw that the enemy was
maneuvering with the object of first circumventing
him and then making for the tunnel and chasing the
fugitives.
Paul set his teeth. He was really aware of each
second that passed, of each of those inappreciable
seconds which increased Bernard's distance.
Three men disappeared down the yawning mouth
of the tunnel; then a fourth; then a fifth. More-
over, the bullets were now beginning to rain upon
the shed.
Paul made a calculation:
“Bernard must be six or seven hundred yards
away. The three men pursuing him have gone fifty
yards . . . seventy-five yards now. That's all
right.”
A serried mass of Germans were coming towards
the shed. It was evidently not believed that Paul


CHAPTER XVII
. THE LAW OF THE CONQUEROR
BRUTALLY handled though he was, Paul offered no
resistance; and, while they were pushing him with
needless violence towards a perpendicular part of
the cliff, he continued his inner calculations:
"It is mathematically certain that the two ex-
plosions took place at distances of three hundred
and four hundred yards, respectively. I can there-
fore also take it as certain that Bernard and Prince
Conrad were on the far side and that the men in pur-
suit were on this side. So all is for the best."
Docilely and with a sort of chaffing complacency
he submitted to the preparations for his execution.
The twelve soldiers entrusted with it were already
drawn up in line under the bright rays of an elec-
tric search-light and were only waiting for the order.
The corporal whom he had wounded early in the
fight dragged himself up to him and snarled:
“Shot!... You're going to be shot, you dirty
Franzose!"
He answered, with a laugh:
“Not a bit of it! Things don't happen as quickly
as all that.”
277


284
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
that his anger suddenly collapsed and that he did not
even seek to conceal the violence of the blow. All the
humiliation, all the ridicule that would fall upon him
and upon his dynasty and upon the empire if his
son were a prisoner, the loud laughter that would
ring through the whole world at the news, the as-
surance which the possession of such a hostage would
give to the enemy; all this showed in his anxious look
and in the stoop of his shoulders.
Paul felt the thrill of victory. He held that man
as firmly as you hold under your knee the beaten
foe who cries out for mercy; and the balance of the
forces in conflict was so definitely broken in his favor
that the Kaiser's very eyes, raised to Paul's, gave
him a sense of his triumph.
The Emperor was able to picture the various
phases of the drama enacted during the previous
night: the arrival through the tunnel, the kidnapping
by the way of the tunnel, the exploding of the mines
to ensure the flight of the assailants; and the mad
daring of the adventure staggered him. He mur-
mured:
“Who are you?”
Paul relaxed slightly from his rigid attitude. He
placed a quivering hand upon the table between them
and said, in a grave tone:
“Sixteen years ago, sir, in the late afternoon of a
September day, you inspected the works of the tun-
nel which you were building from Èbrecourt to Cor-
vigny under the guidance of a person-how shall I


THE LAW OF THE CONQUEROR 285
describe her-of a person highly placed in your se-
cret service. At the moment when you were leaving
a little chapel which stands in the Ornequin woods,
you met two Frenchmen, a father and son-you re-
so disagreeable to you that you allowed a gesture
of annoyance to escape you. Ten minutes later, the
lady who accompanied you returned and tried to take
one of the Frenchmen, the father, back with her to
German territory, alleging as a pretext that you
wished to speak to him. The Frenchman refused.
The woman murdered him before his son's eyes. His
name was Delroze. He was my father.”
The Kaiser had listened with increasing astonish-
ment. It seemed to Paul that his color had become
more jaundiced than ever. Nevertheless he kept his
countenance under Paul's gaze. To him the death of
that M. Delroze was one of those minor incidents over
which an emperor does not waste time. Did he so
much as remember it?
He therefore declined to enter into the details of
a crime which he had certainly not ordered, though
his indulgence for the criminal had made him a party
to it, and he contented himself, after a pause, with
observing:
“The Comtesse Hermine is responsible for her own
actions."
“And responsible only to herself,” Paul retorted,
“seeing that the police of her country refused to let
her be called to account for this one."


THE LAW OF THE CONQUEROR 285
describe her-of a person highly placed in your se-
cret service. At the moment when you were leaving
a little chapel which stands in the Ornequin woods,
you met two Frenchmen, a father and son-you re-
member, sir? It was raining—and the meeting was
so disagreeable to you that you allowed a gesture
of annoyance to escape you. Ten minutes later, the
lady who accompanied you returned and tried to take
one of the Frenchmen, the father, back with her to
German territory, alleging as a pretext that you
wished to speak to him. The Frenchman refused.
The woman murdered him before his son's eyes. His
name was Delroze. He was my father.”
The Kaiser had listened with increasing astonish-
ment. It seemed to Paul that his color had become
more jaundiced than ever. Nevertheless he kept his
countenance under Paul's gaze. To him the death of
that M. Delroze was one of those minor incidents over
which an emperor does not waste time. Did he so
much as remember it?
He therefore declined to enter into the details of
a crime which he had certainly not ordered, though
his indulgence for the criminal had made him a party
to it, and he contented himself, after a pause, with
observing:
“The Comtesse Hermine is responsible for her own
actions."
“And responsible only to herself,” Paul retorted,
“seeing that the police of her country refused to let
her be called to account for this one."


THE LAW OF THE CONQUEROR 287
“And then? And then?” said the Kaiser, in an
angry voice.
“Then, sir, as Karl the spy was dead and as I did
not know the place to which my wife had been taken,
I came back here. Prince Conrad was asleep. With
the aid of one of my friends, I brought him down
from his room and sent him into France through the
tunnel.” ,
“And I suppose, in return for his liberty, you want
the liberty of your wife?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But I don't know where she is !” exclaimed the
Emperor.
“She is in a country house belonging to the Com-
tesse Hermine. Perhaps, if you would just think,
sir ... a country house a few hours off by motor
car, say, a hundred or a hundred and twenty miles
at most.”
The Emperor, without speaking, kept tapping the
table angrily with the pommel of his sword. Then
he said:
“Is that all you ask?”
“No, sir.”
“What? You want something more?”
“Yes, sir, the release of twenty French prisoners
whose names appear on a list given me by the French
commander-in-chief.”
This time the Emperor sprang to his feet with a
bound:
“You're mad! Twenty prisoners! And of-


288
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
ficers, I expect? Commanders of army corps ? Gen-
erals ?”
“The list also contains the names of privates, sir."
The Emperor refused to listen. His fury found
expression in wild gestures and incoherent words.
His eyes shot terrible glances at Paul. The idea of
taking his orders from that little French subaltern,
himself a captive and yet in a position to lay down
the law, must have been fearfully unpleasant. In-
stead of punishing his insolent enemy, he had to
argue with him and to bow his head before his out-
rageous proposals. But he had no choice. There
was no means of escape. He had as his adversary
one whom not even torture would have caused to
yield.
And Paul continued:
“Sir, my wife's liberty against Prince Conrad's
liberty would really not be a fair bargain. What do
you care, sir, whether my wife is a prisoner or free?
No, it is only reasonable that Prince Conrad's re-
lease should be the object of an exchange which justi-
fies it. And twenty French prisoners are none too
many. ... Besides, there is no need for this to be
done publicly. The prisoners can come back to
France, one by one, if you prefer, as though in ex-
change for German prisoners of the same rank ...
so that ..."
The irony of these conciliatory words, intended to
soften the bitterness of defeat and to conceal the
blow struck at the imperial pride under the guise of


290
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
to state. I will give you a list of their names with
the places at which they are interned.”
Paul took a pencil and a sheet of paper. When
he had finished writing, the Emperor snatched the
list from him and his face immediately became con-
vulsed. At each name he seemed to shake with im-
potent rage. He crumpled the paper into a
ball, as though he had resolved to break off the
whole arrangement. But, all of a sudden, abandon-
ing his resistance, with a hurried movement, as
though feverishly determined to have done with
an exasperating business, he rang the bell three
times.
An orderly officer entered with a brisk step and
brought his heels together before the Kaiser.
The Emperor reflected a few seconds longer. Then
he gave his commands:
“Take Lieutenant Delroze in a motor car to
Schloss Hildensheim and bring him back with his
wife to the èbrecourt outposts. On this day week,
meet him at the same point on our lines. He will be
accompanied by Prince Conrad and you by the
twenty French prisoners whose names are on this list.
You will effect the exchange in a discreet manner,
which you will fix upon with Lieutenant Delroze.
That will do. Keep me informed by personal re-
ports."
This was uttered in a jerky, authoritative tone, as
though it were a series of measures which the Em-
peror had adopted of his own initiative, without un-


THE LAW OF THE CONQUEROR 291
dergoing pressure of any kind and by the mere ex-
ercise of his imperial will.
And, having thus settled the matter, he walked
out, carrying his head high, swaggering with his
sword and jingling his spurs.
“One more victory to his credit! What a play-
actor!" thought Paul, who could not help laugh-
ing, to the officer's great horror.
He heard the Emperor's motor drive away. The
interview had lasted hardly ten minutes.
A moment later he himself was outside, hastening
along the road to Hildensheim.


CHAPTER XVIII
HILL 132
What a ride it was! And how gay Paul Delroze
felt! He was at last attaining his object; and this
time it was not one of those hazardous enterprises
which so often end in cruel disappointment, but the
logical outcome and reward of his efforts. He was
beyond the reach of the least shade of anxiety. There'
are victories—and his recest victory over the Em-
peror was one of them—which involve the disappear-
ance of every obstacle. Élisabeth was at Hilden-
sheim Castle and he was on his way to the castle and
nothing would stop him.
He seemed to recognize by the daylight features
in the landscape which had been hidden from him
by the darkness of the night before: a hamlet here,
a village there, a river which he had skirted. He saw
the string of little road-side woods, and he saw
the ditch by which he had fought with Karl the
spy.
It took hardly more than another hour to reach
the hill which was topped by the feudal fortress of
Hildensheim. It was surrounded by a wide moat,
spanned by a draw-bridge. A suspicious porter
292


HILL 132
293
made his appearance, but a few words from the
officer caused the doors to be flung open.
Two footmen hurried down from the castle and,
in reply to Paul's question, said that the French
lady was walking near the pond. He asked the way
and said to the officer:
"I shall go alone. We shall start very soon.”
It had been raining. A pale winter sun, stealing
through the heavy clouds, lit up the lawns and shrub-
beries. Paul went along a row of hot-houses and
climbed an artificial rockery whence trickled the thin
stream of a waterfall which formed a large pool set in
a frame of dark fir trees and alive with swans and
wild duck.
At the end of the pool was a terrace adorned with
statues and stone benches. And there he saw Élisa-
beth.
Paul underwent an indescribable emotion. He had
not spoken to his wife since the outbreak of war.
Since that day, Élisabeth had suffered the most hor-
rible trials and had suffered them for the simple rea-
son that she wished to appear in her husband's eyes
as a blameless wife, the daughter of a blameless
mother.
And now he was about to meet her again at a time
when none of the accusations which he had brought
against the Comtesse Hermine could be rebuffed and
when Élisabeth herself had roused Paul to such a
pitch of indignation by her presence at Prince Con-
rad's supper-party! ...


294
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
But how long ago it all seemed! And how little
it mattered! Prince Conrad's blackguardism, the
Comtesse Hermine’s crimes, the ties of relationship
that might unite the two women, all the struggles
which Paul had passed through, all his anguish, all
his rebelliousness, all his loathing, were but so many
insignificant details, now that he saw at twenty paces
from him his unhappy darling whom he loved so well.
He no longer thought of the tears which she had shed
and saw nothing but her wasted figure, shivering in
the wintry wind.
He walked towards her. His steps grated on the
gravel path; and Élisabeth turned round.
She did not make a single gesture. He understood,
from the expression of her face, that she did not see
him, really, that she looked upon him as a phantom
rising from the mists of dreams and that this phan-
tom must often float before her deluded eyes.
She even smiled at him a little, such a sad smile
that Paul clasped his hands and was nearly falling
on his knees:
“Élisabeth. ... Élisabeth,” he stammered.
Then she drew herself up and put her hand to her
heart and turned even paler than she had been the
evening before, seated between Prince Conrad and
Comtesse Hermine. The image was emerging from
the realm of mist; the reality grew plainer before her
eyes and in her brain. This time she saw Paul!
He ran towards her, for she seemed on the point
of falling. But she recovered herself, put out her


HILL 132
295
hands to make him stay where he was and looked at
him with an effort as though she would have pene-
trated to the very depths of his soul to read his
thoughts.
Paul, trembling with love from head to foot, did
not stir. She murmured:
“Ah, I see that you love me ... that you have
never ceased to love me! ... I am sure of it
now ..."
She kept her arms outstretched, however, as
though against an obstacle, and he himself did not
attempt to come closer. All their life and all their
happiness lay in their eyes; and, while her gaze
wildly encountered his, she went on:
“They told me that you were a prisoner. Is it true,
then? Oh, how I have implored them to take me to
you! How low I have stooped! I have even had to
sit down to table with them and laugh at their jokes
and wear jewels and pearl necklaces which he has
forced upon me. All this in order to see you! ...
And they kept on promising. And then, at length,
they brought me here last night and I thought that
they had tricked me once more ... or else that it
was a fresh trap ... or that they had at last made
up their minds to kill me. ... And now here you
are, here you are, Paul, my own darling! ..."
She took his face in her two hands and, suddenly,
in a voice of despair:
“But you are not going just yet? You will stay
till to-morrow, surely? They can't take you from


HILL 132
297
“You are staying with me? Are we to live here?”
“No, not that! What an idea! You're going to
pack up your things at express speed and we shall
be off.”
“Where to?”
“Where to? To France, of course. When you
think of it, that's the only country where one's really
comfortable.”
And, when she stared at him in amazement, he said:
“Come, let's hurry. The car's waiting; and I
promised Bernard-yes, your brother Bernard-
that we should be with him to-night. ... Are you
ready? But why that astounded look ? Do you
want to have things explained to you? But, my very
dearest, it will take hours and hours to explain every-
thing that's happened to yourself and me. You've
turned the head of an imperial prince ... and then
you were shot ... and then ... and then ...
Oh, what does it all matter? Must I force you to
come away with me?”
All at once she understood that he was speaking
seriously; and, without taking her eyes from him,
she asked:
“Is it true? Are we free?”
“Absolutely free.”
“We're going back to France?”
“Immediately."
“We have nothing more to fear?”
“Nothing.”
The tension from which she was suffering sud-


298
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
denly relaxed. She in her turn began to laugh, yield-
ing to one of those fits of uncontrollable mirth which
find vent in every sort of childish nonsense. She
could have sung, she could have danced for sheer
joy. And yet the tears flowed down her cheeks.
And she stammered:
“Free! ... it's all over!... Have I been
through much? ... Not at all! ... Oh, you
know that I had been shot? Well, I assure you, it
wasn't so bad as all that. ... I will tell you about
it and lots of other things. ... And you must
tell me, too. . . . But how did you manage? You
must be cleverer than the cleverest, cleverer than the
unspeakable Conrad, cleverer than the Emperor!
Oh, dear, how funny it is, how funny! ..."
· She broke off and, seizing him forcibly by the arm,
said:
“Let us go, darling. It's madness to remain an-
other second. These people are capable of anything.
They look upon no promise as binding. They are
scoundrels, criminals. Let's go. ... Let's go...."
They went away.
Their journey was uneventful. In the evening,
they reached the lines on the front, facing èbre-
court.
The officer on duty, who had full powers, had a
reflector lit and himself, after ordering a white flag
to be displayed, took Élisabeth and Paul to the
French officer who came forward.
The officer telephoned to the rear. A motor car


HILL 132
299
was sent; and, at nine o'clock, Paul and Élisabeth
pulled up at the gates of Ornequin and Paul
asked to have Bernard sent for. He met him half-
way:
“Is that you, Bernard?” he said. “Listen to me
and don't let us waste a minute. I have brought
back Élisabeth. Yes, she’s here, in the car. We
are off to Corvigny and you're coming with us.
While I go for my bag and yours, you give instruc-
tions to have Prince Conrad closely watched. He's
safe, isn't he?”
“Yes."
“Then hurry. I want to get at the woman whom
you saw last night as she was entering the tunnel.
Now that she's in France, we'll hunt her down.”
“Don't you think, Paul, that we should be more
likely to find her tracks by ourselves going back into
the tunnel and searching the place where it opens at
Corvigny?"
“We can't afford the time. We have arrived at
a phase of the struggle that demands the utmost
haste.”
“But, Paul, the struggle is over, now that Élisa-
beth is saved."
“The struggle will never be over as long as that
woman lives.”
“Well, but who is she?”
Paul did not answer.
At ten o'clock they all three alighted outside the
station at Corvigny. There were no more trains,


300
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
Everybody was asleep. Paul refused to be put off,
went to the military guard, woke up the adjutant,
sent for the station-master, sent for the booking-
clerk and, after a minute inquiry, succeeded in estab-
lishing the fact that on that same Monday morning
a woman supplied with a pass in the name of Mme.
Antonin had taken a ticket for Château-Thierry.
She was the only woman traveling alone. She was
wearing a Red Cross uniform. Her description cor-
responded at all points with that of the Comtesse
Hermine.
"It's certainly she,” said Paul, when they had
taken their rooms for the night at the hotel near the
station. “There's no doubt about it. It's the only
way she could go from Corvigny. And it's the way
that we shall go to-morrow morning, at the same
time that she did. I hope that she will not have
time to carry out the scheme that has brought her
to France. In any case, this is a great opportunity;
and we must make the most of it.”
“But who is the woman?” Bernard asked again.
“Who is she? Ask Élisabeth to tell you. We have
an hour left in which to discuss certain details and
then we must go to bed. We need rest, all three
of us."
They started on the Tuesday morning. Paul's
confidence was unshaken. Though he knew nothing
of the Comtesse Hermine's intentions, he felt sure
that he was on the right road. And, in fact, they
were told several times that a Red Cross nurse, trav-


HILL 132
308
and proved the collaboration existing between the
countess and the enemy's staff.
Besides, Paul remembered the sentences which she
had exchanged with Karl the spy outside the door of
Prince Conrad's villa:
"I am going to France . . . everything is ready.
The weather is in our favor; and the staff have told
me. ... So I shall be there to-morrow evening; and
it will only need a touch of the thumb. ..."
She had given that touch of the thumb. All the
bridges had been tampered with by Karl or by men
in his pay and had now broken down.
"It's she, obviously enough," said Bernard. “And,
if it is, why look so anxious? You ought to be glad,
on the contrary, because we are now positively cer-
tain of laying hold of her.”
"Yes, but shall we do so in time? When she spoke
to Karl, she uttered another threat which struck me
as much more serious. As I told you, she said, 'Luck
is turning against us. If I succeed, it will be the
end of the run on the black.' And, when the spy
asked her if she had the Emperor's consent, she an-
swered that it was unnecessary and that this was
one of the undertakings which one doesn't talk about.
You understand, Bernard, it's not a question of the
German attack or the destruction of the bridges:
that is honest warfare and the Emperor knows all
about it. No, it's a question of something differ-
ent, which is intended to coincide with other events
and give them their full significance. The woman


304
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
can't think that an advance of half a mile or a mile
is an incident capable of ending what she calls the
run on the black. Then what is at the back of it all?
I don't know; and that accounts for my anxiety.”
Paul spent the whole of that evening and the whole
of the next day, Wednesday the 13th, in making pro-
longed searches in the streets of the town or along
the banks of the Aisne. He had placed himself in
communication with the military authorities. Offi-
cers and men took part in his investigations. They
went over several houses and questioned a number
of the inhabitants.
Bernard offered to go with him; but Paul persisted
in refusing:
“No. It is true, the woman doesn't know you;
but she must not see your sister. I am asking you
therefore to stay with Élisabeth, to keep her from
going out and to watch over her without a moment's
intermission, for we have to do with the most ter-
rible enemy imaginable.”
The brother and sister therefore passed the long
hours of that day with their faces glued to the win-
dow-panes. Paul came back at intervals to snatch
a meal. He was quivering with hope.
“She's here,” he said. “She must have left those
who were with her in the motor car, dropped her
nurse's disguise and is now hiding in some hole, like
a spider behind its web. I can see her, telephone in
hand, giving her orders to a whole band of people,
who have taken to earth like herself and made them-


HILL 132
305
selves invisible like her. But I am beginning to per-
ceive her plan and I have one advantage over her,
which is that she believes herself in safety. She does
not know that her accomplice, Karl, is dead. She
does not know of Élisabeth's release. She does not
know of our presence here. I've got her, the loath-
some beast, I've got her.”
The news of the battle, meanwhile, was not im-
proving. The retreating movement on the left bank
continued. At Crouy, the severity of their losses
and the depth of the mud stopped the rush of the
Moroccan troops. A hurriedly-constructed pontoon
bridge went drifting down-stream.
When Paul made his next appearance, at six
o'clock in the evening, there were a few drops of
blood on his sleeve. Élisabeth took alarm...
"It's nothing," he said, with a laugh. “A scratch;
I don't know how I got it."
“But your hand; look at your hand. You're
bleeding!
“No, it's not my blood. Don't be frightened.
Everything's all right.”
Bernard said:
“You know the commander-in-chief came to Sois-
sons this morning.”
“Yes, so it seems. All the better. I should like
to make him a present of the spy and her gang. It
would be a handsome gift.”
He went away for another hour and then came
back and had dinner.


308
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
door. Paul gave four sharp taps and, at the same
time, took a key from his pocket and opened the door.
• He switched on his electric lamp again in the
passage and, while his companions continued as si-
lent as before, turned to a mirror which rose straight
from the flagged floor. He gave four little taps on
the mirror and then pushed it, pressing one side of it.
It masked the aperture of a staircase which led to
the basement; and Paul sent the light of his lantern
down the well.
This appeared to be a signal, the third signal
agreed upon, for a voice from below, a woman's
voice, but hoarse and rasping in its tones, asked:
“Is that you, Daddy Walter?"
The moment had come to act. Without answer-
ing, Paul rushed down the stairs, taking four steps
at a time. He reached the bottom just as a massive
door was closing, almost barring his access to the
cellar.
He gave a strong push and entered.
The Comtesse Hermine was there, in the semi-
darkness, motionless, hesitating what to do.
Then suddenly she ran to the other end of the
cellar, seized a revolver on the table, turned round
and fired.
The hammer clicked, but there was no report.
She repeated the action three times; and the re-
sult, was three times the same.
"It's no use going on,” said Paul, with a laugh.
“The charge has been removed.”


HILL 132
309
The countess uttered a cry of rage, opened the
drawer of the table and, taking another revolver,
pulled the trigger four times, without producing a'
sound.
“You may as well drop it,” laughed Paul. “This
one has been emptied, too; and so has the one in the
other drawer: so have all the firearms in the house,
for that matter."
Then, when she stared at him in amazement, with-
out understanding, dazed by her own helplessness, he
bowed and introduced himself, just in two words,
which meant so much:
“Paul Delroze."


CHAPTER XIX
HOHENZOLLERN
The cellar, though smaller, looked like one of
those large vaulted basement halls which prevail in
the Champagne district. Walls spotlessly clean, a
smooth floor with brick paths running across it, a
warm atmosphere, a curtained-off recess between two
wine vats, chairs, benches and rugs all went to form
not only a comfortable abode, out of the way of the
shells, but also a safe refuge for any one who stood
in fear of indiscreet visits.
Paul remembered the ruins of the old lighthouse
on the bank of the Yser and the tunnel from Orne-
quin to Èbrecourt. So the struggle was still con-
tinuing underground: a war of trenches and cellars,
a war of spying and trickery, the same unvarying,
stealthy, disgraceful, suspicious, criminal methods.
Paul had put out his lantern, and the room was
now only dimly lit by an oil lamp hanging from
the ceiling, whose rays, thrown downward by an
opaque shade, cast a white circle in which the two
of them stood by themselves. Élisabeth and
Bernard remained in the background, in the
shadow.
310


HOHENZOLLERN
311
The sergeant and his men had not appeared, but
they could be heard at the foot of the stairs.
The countess did not move. She was dressed as
on the evening of the supper at Prince Conrad's
villa. Her face showed no longer any fear or alarm,
but rather an effort of thought, as though she were
trying to calculate all the consequences of the posi-
tion now revealed to her. Paul Delroze? With what
object was he attacking her? His intention-and
this was evidently the idea that gradually caused
the Comtesse Hermine's features to relax-his in-
tention no doubt was to procure his wife's liberty.
She smiled. . Élisabeth a prisoner in Germany:
what a trump card for herself, caught in a trap but
still able to command events !
• At a sign from Paul, Bernard stepped forward
and Paul said to the countess:
“My brother-in-law. Major Hermann, when he
lay trussed up in the ferryman's house, may have
seen him, just as he may have seen me. But, in any
case, the Comtesse Hermine-or, to be more exact,
the Comtesse d’Andeville-does not know or at least
has forgotten her son, Bernard d'Andeville.”
She now seemed quite reassured, still wearing the
air of one fighting with equal or even more powerful
weapons. She displayed no confusion at the sight
of Bernard, and said, in a careless tone:
"Bernard d’Andeville is very like his sister Élisa-
beth, of whom circumstances have allowed me to see
a great deal lately. It is only three days since she


HOHENZOLLERN
313
She waited a second or two and then retorted,
speaking very clearly, so that Paul might take in
the meaning of her words:
“Yes, until she is dead. ... And that can't be
far off ... if it has not happened already.”
There was a pause of some length. Once more,
in the presence of that woman, Paul felt the same
craving to commit murder, the same craving to
gratify his hatred. She must be killed. It was his
duty to kill her, it was a crime not to obey that duty.
Élisabeth was standing three paces back, in the
dark. Slowly, without a word, Paul turned in her
direction, pressed the spring of his lantern and
flashed the light full on his wife's face.
Not for a moment did he suspect the violent ef-
fect which his action would have on the Comtesse
Hermine. A woman like her was incapable of making
a mistake, of thinking herself the victim of an hal-
lucination or the dupe of a resemblance. No, she at
once accepted the fact that Paul had delivered his
wife and that Élisabeth was standing in front of
her. But how was so disastrous an event possible?
Élisabeth, whom three days before she had left in
Karl's hands; Élisabeth, who at this very moment
ought to be either dead or a prisoner in a German
fortress, the access to which was guarded by more
than two million German soldiers: Élisabeth was
here! She had escaped Karl in less than three days!
She had fled from Hildensheim Castle and passed
through the lines of those two million Germans !


314
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
The Comtesse Hermine sat down with distorted
features at the table that served her as a rampart
and, in her fury, dug her clenched fists into her
cheeks. She realized the position. The time was
past for jesting or defiance. The time was past for
bargaining. In the hideous game which she was
playing, the last chance of victory had suddenly
slipped from her grasp. She must yield before
the conqueror; and that conqueror was Paul Del-
roze.
She stammered:
“What do you propose to do? What is your ob-
ject? To murder me?”
He shrugged his shoulders:
“We are not murderers. You are here to be tried.
The penalty which you will suffer will be the sen-
tence passed upon you after a lawful trial, in which
you will be able to defend yourself.”
A shiver ran through her; and she protested:
"You have no right to try me; you are not
judges.”
At that moment there was a noise on the stairs. A
voice cried:
“Eyes front !"
And, immediately after, the door, which had re-
mained ajar, was flung open, admitting three officers
in their long cloaks.
Paul hastened towards them and gave them chairs
in that part of the room which the light did not
reach. A fourth arrived, who was also received by


HOHENZOLLERN
315
Paul and took a seat to one side, a little farther
away.
Élisabeth and Paul were close together.
Paul went back to his place in front and, standing
beside the table, said:
“There are your judges. I am the prosecutor."
And forthwith, without hesitation, as though he
had settled beforehand all the counts of the indict-
ment which he was about to deliver, speaking in a
tone deliberately free from any trace of anger or
hatred, he said:
“You were born at Hildensheim Castle, of which
your grandfather was the steward. The castle was
given to your father after the war of 1870. Your
name is really Hermine: Hermine von Hohenzollern.
Your father used to boast of that name of Hohen-
zollern, though he had no right to it; but the ex-
traordinary favor in which he stood with the old
Emperor prevented any one from contesting his
claim. He served in the campaign of 1870 as a
colonel and distinguished himself by the most out-
rageous acts of cruelty and rapacity. All the treas-
ures that adorn Hildensheim Castle come from
France; and, to complete the brazenness of it, each
object bears a note giving the place from which it
came and the name of the owner from whom it was
stolen. In addition, in the hall there is a marble
slab inscribed in letters of gold with the name of all
the French villages burnt by order of His Excellency
Colonel Count Hohenzollern. The Kaiser has often


HOHENZOLLERN
317
threat
miest
7 cous
her
za trend
or the
and Queen Draga were assassinated. But I will not
linger over the part played by you in diplomatic
events. It is time that I came to your favorite occu-
pation, the work which for the last twenty years you
have carried on against France."
An expression of wickedness and almost of happi-
ness distorted the Comtesse Hermine's features.
Yes, indeed, that was her favorite occupation. She
had devoted all her strength to it and all her per-
verse intelligence.
"And even so," added Paul, “I shall not linger
over the gigantic work of preparation and espionage
which you directed. I have found one of your oc-
complices, armed with a dagger bearing your initials,
even in a village of the Nord, in a church-steeple.
All that happened was conceived, organized and car-
ried out by yourself. The proofs which I collected,
your correspondent's letters and your own letters,
are already in the possession of the court. But what
I wish to lay special stress upon is that part of your
work which concerns the Château d'Ornequin. It will
not take long: a few facts, linked together by mur-
ders, will be enough.”
There was a further silence. The countess pre-
pared to listen with a sort of anxious curiosity.
Paul went on:
"It was in 1894 that you suggested to the Em-
peror the piercing of a tunnel from Èbrecourt to
Corvigny. After the question had been studied by
the engineers, it was seen that this work, this ‘kolos-
esenti
de or
hus
ereri
Finde


318
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
sal work, was not possible and could not be effective
unless possession was first obtained of the Château
d'Ornequin. As it happened, the owner of the prop-
erty was in a very bad state of health. It was de-
cided to wait. But, as he seemed in no hurry to die,
you came to Corvigny. A week later, he died. Mur-
der the first.”
“You lie! You lie!" cried the countess. “You
have no proof. I defy you to produce a proof.”
Paul, without replying, continued:
“The château was put up for sale and, strange to
say, without the least advertisement, secretly, so to
speak. Now what happened was that the man of
business whom you had instructed bungled the mat-
ter so badly that the château was declared sold to
the Comte d'Andeville, who took up his residence
there in the following year, with his wife and his two
children. This led to anger and confusion and
lastly a resolve to start work, nevertheless, and to
begin boring at the site of a little chapel which, at
that time, stood outside the walls of the park. The
Emperor came often to Èbrecourt. One day, on
leaving the chapel, he was met and recognized by my
father and myself. Two minutes later, you were ac-
costing my father. He was stabbed and killed. I my-
self received a wound. Murder the second. A month
later, the Comtesse d’Andeville was seized with a mys-
terious illness and went down to the south to die.
“You lie !" cried the countess, again. “Those are
all lies! Not a single proof! ..."


HOHENZOLLERN
319
“A month later," continued Paul, still speaking
very calmly, "M. d'Andeville, who had lost his wife,
took so great a dislike to Ornequin that he decided
never to go back to it. Your plan was carried out
at once. Now that the château was free, it became
necessary for you to obtain a footing there. How
was it done? By buying over the keeper, Jérôme,
and his wife. That wretched couple, who certainly
had the excuse that they were not Alsatians, as they
pretended to be, but of Luxemburg birth, accepted
the bribe. Thenceforth you were at home, free to
come to Ornequin as and when you pleased. By your
orders, Jérôme even went to the length of keeping
the death of the Comtesse Hermine, the real Com-
tesse Hermine, a secret. And, as you also were a
Comtesse Hermine and as no one knew Mme. d’Ande
ville, who had led a secluded life, everything went off
well. Moreover, you continued to multiply your pre-
cautions. There was one, among others, that baffled
me. A portrait of the Comtesse d’Andeville hung in
the boudoir which she used to occupy. You had a
portrait painted of yourself, of the same size, so as
to fit the frame inscribed with the name of the coun-
tess; and this portrait showed you under the same
outward aspect, wearing the same clothes and orna-
ments. In short, you became what you had striven
to appear from the outset and indeed during the life-
time of Mme. d'Andeville, whose dress you were even
then beginning to copy: you became the Comtesse
Hermine d’Andeville, at least during the period of


320 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
your visits to Ornequin. There was only one dan-
ger, the possibility of M. d'Andeville's unexpected
return. To ward this off with certainty, there was
but one remedy, murder. You therefore managed
to become acquainted with M. d'Andeville, which en-
abled you to watch his movements and correspond
with him. Only, something happened on which you
had not reckoned. I mean to say that a feeling which
was really surprising in a woman like yourself began
gradually to attach you to the man whom you had
chosen as a victim. I have placed among the ex-
hibits a photograph of yourself which you sent to
M. d'Andeville from Berlin. At that time, you were
hoping to induce him to marry you; but he saw
through your schemes, drew back and broke off the
friendship.”
The countess had knitted her brows. Her lips
were distorted. The lookers-on divined all the hu-
miliation which she had undergone and all the bitter-
ness which she had retained in consequence. At the
same time, she felt no shame, but rather an increas-
ing surprise at thus seeing her life divulged down to
the least detail and her murderous past dragged
from the obscurity in which she believed it buried.
“When war was declared,” Paul continued, “your
work was ripe. Stationed in the èbrecourt villa, at
the entrance to the tunnel, you were ready. My mar-
riage to Élisabeth d’Andeville, my sudden arrival at
the château, my amazement at seeing the portrait of
the woman who had killed my father: all this was


HOHENZOLLERN
323
why they should not hear what I have still to say."
And, turning towards the countess, he said, in
tones which gradually betrayed more feeling:
“We are coming to the last act. All this part of
the contest you conducted under the aspect of Major
Hermann, which made it easier for you to follow
the armies and play your part as chief spy. Her-
mann, Hermine. ... The Major Hermann whom,
when necessary, you passed off as your brother was
yourself, Comtesse Hermine. And it was you whose
conversation I overheard with the sham Laschen, or
rather Karl the spy, in the ruins of the lighthouse
on the bank of the Yser. And it was you whom I
caught and bound in the attic of the ferryman's
house. Ah, what a fine stroke you missed that day!
Your three enemies lay wounded, within reach of your
hand, and you ran away without seeing them, with-
out making an end of them! And you knew nothing
further about us, whereas we knew all about your
plans. An appointment for the 10th of January at
èbrecourt, that ill-omened appointment which you
made with Karl while telling him of your inplacable
determination to do away with Élisabeth. And I was
there, punctually, on the 10th of January! I looked
on at Prince Conrad's supper-party! And I was
there, after the supper, when you handed Karl the
poison. I was there, on the driver's seat of the motor-
car, when you gave Karl your last instructions. I
was everywhere! And that same evening Karl died.
And the next night I kidnaped Prince Conrad. And


324
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
the day after, that is to say, two days ago, holding
so important a hostage and thus compelling the Em-
peror to treat with me, I dictated conditions of which
the first was the immediate release of Élisabeth. The
Emperor gave way. And here you see us !"
In all this speech, a speech which showed the Com-
tesse Hermine with what implacable energy she had
been hunted down, there was one word which over-
whelmed her as though it related the most terrible
of catastrophes. She stammered:
“Dead? You say that Karl is dead?”
“Shot down by his mistress at the moment when
he was trying to kill me,” cried Paul, once again
mastered by his hatred. “Shot down like a mad dog!
Yes, Karl the spy is dead; and even after his death
he remained the traitor that he had been all his life.
You were asking for my proofs: I discovered them
on Karl's person! It was in his pocket-book that I
read the story of your crimes and found copies of
your letters and some of the originals as well. He
foresaw that sooner or later, when your work was
accomplished, you would sacrifice him to secure your
own safety; and he revenged himself in advance. He
avenged himself just as Jérôme the keeper and his
wife Rosalie revenged themselves, when about to be
shot by your orders, by revealing to Élisabeth the
mysterious part which you played at the Château
d'Ornequin. So much for your accomplices! You
kill them, but they destroy you. It is no longer I
who accuse you, it is they. Your letters and their


326 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
He embraced his children. Bernard expressed his
surprise and delight at seeing him there.
“Yes,” he said, “I had a message from the com-
mander-in-chief and I came the moment Paul sent
for me. Your husband is a fine fellow, Élisabeth.
He told me what had happened when we met a little
while ago. And I now see all that he has done ...
to crush that viper!”
He had taken up his stand opposite the countess;
and his hearers felt beforehand the full importance
of the words which he was about to speak. For a
moment, she lowered her head before him. But soon
her eyes once more flashed defiance; and she said:
“So you, too, have come to accuse me? What
have you to say against me? Lies, I suppose?
Infamies? ..."
There was a long pause after those words. Then,
speaking slowly, he said:
“I come, in the first place, as a witness to give the
evidence as to your identity for which you were ask-
ing just now. You introduced yourself to me long ago
by a name which was not your own, a name under
which you succeeded in gaining my confidence. Later,
when you tried to bring about a closer relationship
between us, you revealed to me who you really were,
hoping in this way to dazzle me with your titles and
your connections. It is therefore my right and my
duty to declare before God and man that you are
really and truly the Countess Hermine von Hohen-
zollern. The documents which you showed me were


328
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
only to-day that I have been able to compare the
facts. And, whereas I repulsed you at that time with
a purely instinctive repulsion, I accuse you now with
unparalleled execration ... now when I know, yes,
know, with absolute certainty. Long ago, when my
poor wife was dying, time after time the doctor said
to me, 'It's a strange illness. She has bronchitis and
pneumonia, I know; and get there are things which
I don't understand, symptoms-why conceal it?-
symptoms of poisoning.' I used to protest. The
theory seemed impossible! My wife poisoned? And
by whom? By you, Comtesse Hermine, by you! I
declare it to-day. By you! I swear it, as I hope
to be saved. Proofs? Why, your whole life bears
witness against you. Listen, there is one point on
which Paul Delroze failed to shed light. He did not
understand why, when you murdered his father, you
wore clothes like those of my wife. Why did you?
For this hateful reason that, even at that time, my
wife's death was resolved upon and that you already
wished to create in the minds of those who might
see you a confusion between the Comtesse d’Ande-
ville and yourself. The proof is undeniable. My
wife stood in your way: you killed her. You guessed
that, once my wife was dead, I should never come
back to Ornequin; and you killed my wife. Paul
Delroze, you have spoken of six murders. This is
the seventh: the murder of the Comtesse d’Andeville.”
The count had raised his two clenched fists and
was shaking them in the Comtesse Hermine's face.


CHAPTER XX
THE DEATH PENALTY-AND A CAPITAL PUNISHMENT
The Comtesse Hermine started up triumphantly;
and this movement of hers was even more dramatic
than the inexplicable vibration of that electric bell.
She gave a cry of fierce delight, followed by an out-
burst of laughter. The whole expression of her face
changed. It denoted no more anxiety, no more of
that tension indicating a groping and bewildered
mind, nothing but insolence, assurance, scorn and in-
tense pride.
"Fools !” she snarled. "Fools! So you really be-
lieved-oh, what simpletons you Frenchmen are !
that you had me caught like a rat in a trap? Me!
Me! ..."
The words rushed forth so volubly, so hurriedly,
that her utterance was impeded. She became rigid,
closing her eyes for a moment. Then, summoning
up a great effort of will, she put out her right arm,
pushed aside a chair and uncovered a little mahog-
any slab with a brass switch, for which she felt with
her hand while her eyes remained turned on Paul,
on the Comte d'Andeville, on his son and on the three
330


THE PENALTY
331
officers. And, in a dry, cutting voice, she rapped
out:
“What have I to fear from you now? You wish
to know if I am the Countess von Hohenzollern?
Yes, I am. I don't deny it, I even proclaim the fact.
The actions which you, in your stupid way, call mur-
ders, yes, I committed them all. It was my duty to
the Emperor, to the greater Germany. ... A spy?
Not at all. Simply a German woman. And what a
German woman does for her country is rightly done.
So let us have no more silly phrases, no more bab-
bling about the past. Nothing matters but the pres-
ent and the future. And I am once more mistress
of the present and the future both. Thanks to you,
I am resuming the direction of events; and we shall
have some amusement. . . . Shall I tell you some-
thing? All that has happened here during the past
few days was prepared by myself. The bridges car-
ried away by the river were sapped at their founda-
tions by my orders. Why? For the trivial purpose
of making you fall back? No doubt, that was neces-
sary first: we had to announce a victory. Victory
or not, it shall be announced; and it will have its
effect, that I promise you. But I wanted something
better; and I have succeeded.”
She stopped and then, leaning her body towards
her hearers, continued, in a lower voice:
“The retreat, the disorder among your troops, the
need of opposing our advance and bringing up rein-
forcements must needs compel your commander-in-


THE PENALTY
333
The countess began laughing again; and her laugh
was full of wicked glee:
“You're right, Paul Delroze, my man. You take
in the situation, you do. However quickly that
young booby may fire his bullet at me, I shall always
have time to pull the lever. And that's what you
don't want, isn't it? That's what these other gentle-
men and you want to avoid at all costs ... even at
the cost of my liberty, eh? For that is how the mat-
ter stands, alas! All my fine plan is falling to pieces
because I am in your hands. But I alone am worth
as much as your three great generals, am I not?
And I have every right to spare them in order to
save myself. So are we agreed? Their lives against
mine! And at once! ... Paul Delroze, I give you
one minute in which to consult your friends. If in
one minute, speaking in their name and your own,
you do not give me your word of honor that you con-
sider me free and that I shall receive every facility
for crossing the Swiss frontier, then ... then
heigh-ho, up we go, as the children say!... Oh,
how I've got you, all of you! And the humor of it!
Hurry up, friend Delroze, your word! Yes, that's
all I ask. Hang it, the word of a French officer!
Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
Her nervous, scornful laugh went on ringing
through the dead silence. And it happened grad-
ually that its tone rang less surely, like words that
fail to produce the intended effect. It rang false,
broke and suddenly ceased.


334
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
And she stood in dumb amazement: Paul Delroze
had not budged, nor had any of the officers nor any
of the soldiers in the room.
She shook her fist at them:
“You're to hurry, do you hear? . . . You have
one minute, my French friends, one minute and no
more! ..."
Not a man moved.
She counted the seconds in a low voice and an-
nounced them aloud by tens.
At the fortieth second, she stopped, with an
anxious look on her face. Those present were as
motionless as before. Then she yielded to a fit of
fury:
“Why, you must be mad!" she cried. “Don't you
understand? Oh, perhaps you don't believe me? Yes,
that's it, they don't believe me! They can't imagine
that it's possible! Possible? Why, it's your own
soldiers who worked for me! Yes, by laying tele-
phone-lines between the post-office and the villa used
for head-quarters! My assistants had only to tap
the wires and the thing was done: the mine-chamber
under the villa was connected with this cellar. Do
you believe me now?”
Her hoarse, panting voice ceased. Her misgiv-
ings, which had become more and more marked, dis-
torted her features. Why did none of those men
move? Why did they pay no attention to her orders?
Had they taken the incredible resolution to accept
whatever happened rather than show her mercy?


338 THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
forced upon her and all the shame and torture to
which she had been put.
But Paul paid no attention to either the brother
or the sister, nor did the officers and soldiers. All
observed the same rigidly impassive attitude, seemed
unaffected by what was happening.
Two or three minutes passed, during which a few
words were exchanged in whispers, while not a soul
stirred. Broken down and shattered with excitement,
Élisabeth wept. Bernard's flesh crept at the sound
of his sister's sobs and he felt as if he was suffering
from one of those nightmares in which we witness
the most horrible sights without having the strength
or the power to act.
And then something happened which everybody
except Bernard and Élisabeth seemed to think quite
natural. There was a grating sound behind the row
of clothes. The invisible door moved on its hinges.
The clothes parted and made way for a human form
which was flung on the ground like a bundle.
Bernard d'Andeville uttered an exclamation of de-
light. Élisabeth looked and laughed through her
tears. It was the Comtesse Hermine, bound and
gagged.
Three gendarmes entered after her:
“We've delivered the goods, sir," one of them
jested, with a fat, jolly chuckle. “We were begin-
ning to get a bit nervous and to wonder if you'd
guessed right and if this was really the way she
meant to clear out by. But, by Jove, sir, the bag-


340
THE W
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
vixen! But for you, Delroze, the villa would have
been blown up with all my staff and myself into the
bargain! ... But what was the explosion which we
heard?”
“A condemned building, sir, which had already
been demolished by the shells and which the com-
mandant of the fortress wanted to get rid of. We
only had to divert the electric wire which starts from
here."
“So the whole gang is captured ?”
“Yes, sir, thanks to a spy whom I had the luck
to lay my hands on just now and who told me what
I had to do in order to get in here. He had first
revealed the Comtesse Hermine's plan in full detail,
together with the names of all his accomplices. It
was arranged that the man was to let the countess
know, at ten o'clock this evening, by means of that
electric bell, if you were holding a council in your
villa. The notice was given, but by one of our own
soldiers, acting under my orders.”
“Well done; and, once more, thank you, Delroze."
The general stepped into the circle of light. He
was tall and powerfully built. His upper lip was
covered with a thick white mustache.
There was a movement of surprise among those
present. Bernard d'Andeville and his sister came
forward. The soldiers stood to attention. They
had recognized the general commanding-in-chief.
With him were the two generals of whom the countess
had spoken.


THE PENALTY
341
The gendarmes had pushed the spy against the
wall opposite. They untied her legs, but had to
support her, because her knees were giving way be-
neath her.
And her face expressed unspeakable amazement
even more than terror. With wide-open eyes she
stared at the man whom she had meant to kill, the
man whom she believed to be dead and who was alive
and who would shortly pronounce the inevitable sen-
tence of death upon her.
Paul repeated:
“To die without having done the harm you in-
tended to do, that is the really terrible thing, is it
not?”
The commander-in-chief was alive! The hideous
and tremendous plot had failed! He was alive and
so were his officers and so was every one of the spy's
enemies. Paul Delroze, Stéphane d’Andeville,
Bernard, Élisabeth, those whom she had pursued
with her indefatigable hatred: they were all
there! She was about to die gazing at the vision,
so horrible for her, of her enemies reunited and
happy.
And above all she was about to die with the
thought that everything was lost. Her great dream
was shattered to pieces. Her Emperor's throne was
tottering. The very soul of the Hohenzollerns was
departing with the Comtesse Hermine. And all this
was plainly visible in her haggard eyes, from which
gleams of madness flashed at intervals.


THE PENALTY
343
roze? You must need rest after such a day's work.”
They went out.
The spy was shrieking:
“Mercy! Mercy!"
The soldiers were already drawn up in line along
the opposite wall.
The count, Paul and Bernard waited for a mo-
ment. She had killed the Comte d'Andeville's wife.
She had killed Bernard's mother and Paul's father.
She had tortured Élisabeth. And, though their
minds were troubled, they felt the great calm which
the sense of justice gives. No hatred stirred them.
No thought of vengeance excited them.
The gendarmes had fastened the spy by the waist-
band to a nail in the wall, to hold her up. They now
stood aside.
Paul said to her:
“One of the soldiers here is a priest. If you need
his assistance. ..."
But she did not understand. She did not listen.
She merely saw what was happening and what was
about to happen; and she stammered without ceas-
ing:
“Mercy! ... Mercy! ... Mercy! ...»
They went out. When they came to the top of
the staircase, a word of command reached their ears:
“Present! ..."
Lest he should hear more, Paul slammed the inner
and outer hall-doors behind him.
Outside was the open air, the good pure air with


346
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
know that your friend the Comtesse Hermine is dead,
I suppose? Ha, ha, that makes you prick up your
ears, I see! It's quite true: that good and great
woman was executed the other day at Soissons. And,
upon my word, she cut just as poor a figure as you
are doing now, sir. They had to hold her up. And
the way she yelled and screamed for mercy! There
was no pose about her, no dignity. But I can see
that your thoughts are straying. Bother! What
can I do to cheer you up? Ah, I have an idea! ..."
He took a little paper-bound book from his pocket:
“Look here, sir, I'll read to you. Of course, a
Bible would be more appropriate; only I haven't one
on me. And the great thing, after all, is to help you
to forget; and I know nothing better for a German
who prides himself on his country and his army than
this little book. We'll dip into it together, shall we?
It's called German Crimes as Related by German
Eye-witnesses. It consists of extracts from the
diaries of your fellow-countrymen. It is therefore
one of those irrefutable documents which earn the
respect of German science. I'll open it at random.
Here goes. “The inhabitants fled from the village.
It was a horrible sight. All the houses were plas-
tered with blood; and the faces of the dead were
hideous to see. We buried them all at once; there
were sixty of them, including a number of old women,
some old men, a woman about to become a mother,
and three children who had pressed themselves
against one another and who died like that. All the


THE PENALTY
347
survivors were turned out; and I saw four little boys
carrying on two sticks a cradle with a child of five
or six months in it. The whole village was sacked.
And I also saw a mother with two babies and one of
them had a great wound in the head and had lost an
eye.'»
Bernard stopped to address the prince:
“Interesting reading, is it not, sir?”
And he went on:
““26 August. The charming village of Gué
d'Hossus, in the Ardennes, has been burnt to the
ground, though quite innocent, as it seems to me.
They tell me that a cyclist fell from his machine and
that the fall made his rifle go off of its own accord,
so they fired in his direction. After that, they simply
threw the male inhabitants into the flames.' Here's
another bit: "25 August. This was in Belgium.
'We have shot three hundred of the inhabitants of
the town. Those who survived the volleys were told
off to bury the rest. You should have seen the
women's faces ! ”
And the reading continued, interrupted by judi-
cious reflections which Bernard emitted in a placid
voice, as though he were commenting on an historical
work. Prince Conrad, meanwhile, seemed on the
verge of fainting.
When Paul arrived at the Château d'Ornequin and,
alighting from his car, went to the terrace, the sight
of the prince and the careful stage-setting with the
twelve soldiers told him of the rather uncanny little


348
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
comedy which Bernard was playing. He uttered a
reproachful protest:
“I say! Bernard !"
The young man exclaimed, in an innocent voice:
“Ah, Paul, so you've come? Quick! His royal
highness and I were waiting for you. We shall be
able to finish off this job at last!”
He went and stood in front of his men at ten
paces from the prince:
"Are you ready, sir? Ah, I see you prefer it
front way!... Very well, though I can't say that
you're very attractive seen from the front. How-
ever. ... Oh, but look here, this will never do!
Don't bend your legs like that, I beg of you. Hold
yourself up, do! And please look pleasant. Now
then; keep your eyes on my cap. ... I'm counting:
one ... two ... Look pleasant, can't you?”
He had lowered his head and was holding a pocket
camera against his chest. Presently he squeezed the
bulb, the camera clicked and Bernard exclaimed:
“There! I've got you! Sir, I don't know how to
thank you. You have been so kind, so patient. The
smile was a little forced perhaps, like the smile of a
man on his way to the gallows, and the eyes were
like the eyes of a corpse. Otherwise the expression
was quite charming. A thousand thanks.”
Paul could not help laughing. Prince Conrad had
not fully grasped the joke. However, he felt that
the danger was past and he was now trying to put a
good face on things, like a gentleman accustomed


THE PENALTY
351
you and who is let off with a few days' solitary con-
finement! Here's one of the leaders of those high-
waymen who go about committing murder and pil-
lage; and he goes home free to start pillaging and
murdering again! Why, it's absurd! Just think:
all those scoundrels who wanted war-emperors and
princes and emperors' and princes' wives—know
nothing of war but its pomp and its tragic beauty
and absolutely nothing of the agony that falls upon
humbler people! They suffer morally in the dread of
the punishment that awaits them, but not physically,
in their flesh and in the flesh of their flesh. The
others die. They go on living. And, when I have
this unparalleled opportunity of getting hold of one
of them, when I might take revenge on him and his
confederates and shoot him in cold blood, as they
shoot our sisters and our wives, you think it out of
the way that I should put the fear of death into
him for just ten minutes! Why, if I had listened
to sound human and logical justice, I ought to have
visited him with some trilling torture which he would
never have forgotten, such as cutting off one of the
ears or the tip of his nose!”
“You're perfectly right,” said Paul.
“There, you see, you agree with me! I should
have cut off the tip of his nose! What a fool I
was not to do it, instead of resting content with giv-
ing him a wretched lesson which he will have for-
gotten by to-morrow! What an ass I am! How-
ever, my one consolation is that I have taken a photo-


352
THE WOMAN OF MYSTERY
graph which will constitute a priceless document:
the face of a Hohenzollern in the presence of death.
Oh, I ask you, did you see his face? ..."
The car was passing through Ornequin village. It
was deserted. The Huns had burnt down every
house and taken away all the inhabitants, driving
them before them like troops of slaves.
But they saw, seated amid the ruins, a man in rags.
He was an old man. He stared at them foolishly,
with a madman's eyes. Beside him a child was hold-
ing forth its arms, poor little arms from which the
hands were gone. ...
THE END


HOUDETE:
llage. I
#71 ETETT
foolish
was hoc
which to