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 through. I lived all of it—every minute. It was a touch-and-go game with the devil and death, and I dodged them both. Dieu soit merci!"

She laughed with a little throw-back of the head, showing a white full throat above the ragged bit of fur. A number of Frenchwomen pressed about her. Some of them patted her arms, fondled her hands. One woman bent down and kissed her shabby jacket.

"Elle était merveilleuse, la demoiselle," said an old Frenchman by my side. "She was marvellous, sir. All that she did for the wounded, for your prisoners, for many men who owe their lives to her, cannot be told in a little while. They tried to catch her. She was nearly caught. It is a miracle that she was not shot. A miracle, monsieur!"

Other people in the crowd spoke to me about "la demoiselle." They were mysterious. Even now they could not tell me all she had done. But she had risked death every day for four years. Every day. Truly it was a miracle she was not caught.

Listening to them I missed some of Eileen O'Connor's own words to Brand, and saw only the wave of her hand as she disappeared into the crowd.

It was Brand who told me that he and I and Fortune had been invited to spend the evening with her, or an hour or so. I saw that Wicky, as we called him, was startled by the meeting with her, and was glad of it.

"I knew her when we were kids," he said. "Ten years ago—perhaps more. She used to pull my hair! Extraordinary, coming face to face with her in Lille, on this day of all days."

He turned to Fortune with a look of command.

"We ought to get busy with that advanced headquarters. There are plenty of big houses in these streets."

"Ce qu'on appelle unembarras de choix," said Fortune