"Oui, Mademoiselle. I saw the fight. Glorious!" he murmured.
"He is not German," whispered Belinda. "It is the German who died."
"Nom de Dieu! Is this one then the French brave?"
"American. You saw him when he visited the hospital before—with the old sea captain."
"Oui! Your young man, Mademoiselle," he said, simply. "I quite remember. Good! We will save him from les Boches."
"It is more than that, Erard," she told him softly. "We have to save another man—a spy. Monsieur Sanderson left him at a place—he will tell you. To-morrow morning Monsieur Renaud will be waiting the return of the airplane."
"Monsieur Renaud?" repeated Erard. His face suddenly expressed some emotion that Belinda could not understand. "The great Renaud of the detective police?"
"I believe so. He must be warned. It is most important that he should get through the German lines as soon as possible."
"For France!" gasped Erard, suddenly drawing himself erect.
"For France," repeated Belinda softly. "Now you will help me. I shall be called away while we are with Monsieur Sanderson. He will then tell you all. Be circumspect."