He sat up with a bound and drew her to him.
"Elaine," he said, "I love you."
She lay still in his arms; he raised her head and kissed her. "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you," he said.
She smiled faintly. "That's an old, old story which you can read in any book."
"Yes, I know that. I only said it as the correct thing and as a matter of form. But really, Elaine, I have loved you from the time when you were recovering from the fever of your wound, and I saw you at the window in my smoking-room. My darling, say once more what you said just now when I opened my eyes."
She bent down, looked into his eyes, and said: "I love you."
"No, say it in Swedish," he said, in a tone of command.
"Jag älskar dig," she repeated obediently.
* * *
A month later Maurice Wallion was sitting in a chair facing the Chief of the Secret Service Division of New York in his private office. They were smoking the cigars the Chief had once mentioned on the telephone, and he was listening with intense interest to Wallion's graphic story.