"One moment," exclaimed Rollo, who had hitherto held his tongue but had made good use of his eyes. "Does Mademoiselle Résimont know about her father?"
"No; she has not heard anything of or from him for weeks. He is not dead?"
"Badly wounded, and now somewhere in England. I don't know where; but perhaps Major Planchenoît could give further particulars. And Madame Résimont?"
"She is in Holland—at Bergen-op-Zoom. The doctors ordered her to go, otherwise she would have remained here and helped with the wounded. I'll find Yvonne."
In less than a minute Thelma Everest returned, accompanied by her Belgian chum.
Yvonne Résimont was a girl of medium height and well-proportioned. Her features were dark and clear, her hair of a deep brown. Notwithstanding the grimness of her surroundings she had a natural vivacity that could not fail to charm all with whom she came in contact.
"You, then, are Kenneth," she exclaimed in good English, with a slight foreign accent. "I know much about you from Thelma, but I did not expect to see you in the uniform of our brave Belgians."
Kenneth coloured slightly.
"I wish to goodness the uniform were a little better fitting," he thought; but it would not have mattered in the slightest degree. Yvonne was a patriot to her finger-tips. Every man in the uniform of her beloved country was to her a hero. The uniform, ill-fitting or otherwise, was in her eyes an emblem of right against might.
"Tell me, Kenneth," she continued, using his Christian name quite as a matter of course. It was excusable, since Thelma had never spoken of her brother by any other name, and Kenneth had not the faintest objection. "Tell me, how came you to be fighting with us in Belgian uniform?"