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That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. She touched bow to strings, playing a fifth. Bête, she told herself fiercely. We aren’t worth it. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. You made that thing?” “From a kit. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. Besides, Gerald would not for the world have passed up the chance of a little excitement. “If you speak—farewell. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me.
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