Grace heard the woman step over to the bed and look down at her, after the departure of the officer. She stirred a little under that gaze, which seemed to burn into her, moaned and twisted her head from side to side several times. After a brief interval of quietness the Overton girl opened her eyes, closed and then opened them again, apparently with great effort. Grace was acting her part without the slightest slip. She gazed up blankly into the face of the German woman.
“Guten morgen, Fraulein Schmidt,” greeted the German.
“What is that you say? I am an American.”
“I said good morning, Fraulein Schmidt,” repeated the woman, this time in English, smiling encouragingly.
“You know me?” exclaimed Grace Harlowe, raising herself on one elbow, the effort giving her pain and causing her to make a wry face. “How did you know my name?”
“The Germans know many things. They are not the thickheads that the enemy would have the world believe them. You come from the American army?”
Grace said she did, and explained that they had gone adrift in the storm when she was with the balloon on invitation for the day, but in answer to a question as to what she did in the army, the Overton girl asked one for herself.
“Who are you and where am I?”
“You were hurt and a kind-hearted officer had you brought here. You will, I hope, be able to go out in a week or so.”
“So long as that?”