"But upon the estate is the cottage of a loyal Frenchman. He was gardener there in my husband's time. But as he bears a German name and his wife is German, they have never suspected him.
"It is with this old gardener, Brodart, my son communicates; and it is to him our good Bubu goes."
"But how can the dog get across No Man's Land?" cried Ruth. "I do not understand that at all!"
"There are bare and bleak places between the lines which we know nothing about," the countess said, shaking her head. "Not in all places are the two armies facing each other at a distance of a few hundred yards. There is the lake and swampland of Savoie, for instance. A great space divides the trenches there—all of two miles. Patrols are continually passing to and fro by night there, and from both sides. A man can easily get through, let alone a dog.
"Hush!" she added, lowering her voice. "Of course, I fear nobody here now. Poor Bessie—who was faithful to me for so many years—was contaminated by German gold. But she was half German at best. It was well the poor soul escaped as she did.
"However, my remaining servants I can trust. Yet there are things one does not speak of, Mademoiselle. You understand? There are many good men and true who take their lives in their hands and go back and forth between the enemy's lines and our own. They offer their lives upon the altar of their country's need."
CHAPTER XVII
THE WORST IS TOLD
"But, Major Marchand? What of him?" Ruth asked, deeply interested in what the countess had said.