Stewart hesitated.
“I promised to deliver them only to General Joffre,” he explained.
“I understand. But the general is very busy. I must see the letters for a moment before I ask him for an audience.”
Without a word, Stewart passed them over. He saw the flush of excitement with which the other looked at them; he saw how his hand trembled as he drew out the sheets, glanced at them, thrust them hastily back, and touched a button on his desk.
Instantly the door opened and the messenger appeared.
“Inquire of General Joffre if he can see me for a moment on a matter of the first importance,” said the man. The messenger bowed and withdrew. “Yes, of the first importance,” he added, turning to Stewart, with shining eyes. “Here are the letters—I will not deprive you, sir, of the pleasure of yourself placing them in our general’s hands. And it is to him you shall tell your story.”
The door opened and the messenger appeared.
“The general will be pleased to receive Monsieur at once,” he said, and stood aside for them to pass.
At the end of the hall was a large room crowded with officers. Beyond this was a smaller room where six men, each with his secretary, sat around a long table. At its head sat a plump little man, with white hair and bristling white mustache, which contrasted strongly with a face darkened and reddened by exposure to wind and rain, and lighted by a pair of eyes incredibly bright.
He was busy with a memorandum, but looked up as Stewart and his companion entered.