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 to Milicent that he was not sure whether Charles knew him. Ruth scarcely could bear thought of visiting Charles Gail and pretending that she was Cynthia; but it was evident that he was so weak that he would suspect nothing.

The chance of George Byrne betraying her was greater. He had been in Paris, Milicent said, upon some special duty of indefinite duration. Every time he had called he had left messages with Milicent and had assumed that he might not be able to return to the Rue des Saints Pères.

"He was here the day we got the news that Mirevaux was taken," Milicent said. "We tried in every way to get word of you. He was almost crazy, dear. He loves you; don't you ever doubt that!"

Ruth made no reply, though Milicent waited, watching her.

"I didn't say anything to him about Gerry Hull, dear."

"I've written him about meeting Gerry," Ruth said, simply. "I'll start for the hospital now, Mil."

"You'll let me go with you, Cynthia?"

"Thanks; but it's not—I think I'd rather not."

Milicent gazed at her, a little surprised and hurt, but she made no further offer.

Ruth went out on the Rue des Saints Pères alone; a start of panic seized her as she gazed up and down the little street—panic that from a neighboring doorway, or about one of the corners, George Byrne might suddenly appear and speak to her.

The late spring afternoon was clear and warm; and that part of Paris was quiet, when from Ruth's right and ahead of her came the resound and the concussion of a heavy explosion. Ruth gazed up, instinctively, to find the