“She’s my wife. If you’re here in half-an-hour she’ll bring you some coffee. One doesn’t leave a young wife at home with so many soldiers about.”
“If you both stand chattering here neither of you will get any coffee,” put in Irene emphatically.
The Bavarian lowered his rifle. “I’m relieved at two o’clock,” he said with a laugh. “Lose no time, schœne Frau. There won’t be much coffee on the road to Liège.”
The girl passed on, but Dalroy lingered. “Is that where you’re going?” he asked.
“Yes. We’re due in Paris in three weeks.”
“Lucky dog!”
“Hans, are you coming, or shall I go on alone?” demanded Irene.
“Farewell, comrade, for a little ten minutes,” growled Dalroy, and he followed.
An empty train stood in a bay on the right, and Dalroy espied a window-cleaner’s ladder in a corner. “Where are you going, woman?” he cried.
His “wife” was walking down the main platform which ended against the wall of a signal-cabin, and there might be insuperable difficulties in that direction.