"Yes. In many ways."
"I have never seen a picture of the count, have I?" the American girl pursued.
"But, yes! You have but to look at Henri," laughed the countess. "A little older. Perhaps a little more serious of expression. But the same tall, slim, graceful figure, both. Pardon my pride in my sons, Mademoiselle. They are my all now. And they are both like me, I believe," she added softly.
Ruth looked at her with luminous eyes.
"Like you in every way, Madame? Given so entirely to the service of their country?"
"But yes! Too recklessly patriotic, I fear," said the countess. Then, with a start, she exclaimed: "What is this? Do my eyes deceive me? Is it that wicked Bubu, running wild and free again?"
Ruth turned quickly. Crossing the wide lawns she saw the greyhound pass swiftly. He was without his blanket, and it seemed to Ruth as though the barrel of his body was much lighter of color than his chest and legs. Like a flash he was behind the chateau.
"Ma foi!" gasped the countess. "What is—— Something——"
She started to follow the dog. As she still clung to Ruth's arm the girl must perforce go with her. Through Ruth's mind was swirling a multitude of suspicious thoughts.