“M’sieur Rigaux! You!” she gasped. “You—a German!”
“Yes, Mademoiselle,” he laughed. “I have been searching everywhere for you. It is indeed fortunate that I am here in time. This, surely, is no place for you.”
“Searching for me?” she echoed. “How did you know I was here—in Dinant? And, tell me—why are you, a Belgian—wearing the Prussian uniform?”
Truly the meeting was a dramatic one.
He laughed lightly, replying hastily:
“My dear Aimée, I will explain all that later. Come. Get away with me, while there is yet time.” Then, whispering in her ear, he added: “These men are mostly drunk. Quick! Come with me, and I will place you in safety.”
“But I cannot understand,” the girl cried, still in hesitation. “Why are you here—with the enemy, and in the enemy’s uniform?”
“This is surely no time for questions or explanations,” he urged. And, turning to the soldiers, he gave an order to march the remaining women out of the house. “Let me save you, Aimée,” he added in French, turning to her.
“How? How can you save me?” she inquired, instinctively mistrusting him. The very fact that he was dressed as a German officer had aroused grave suspicion in her mind.
“I have my car in waiting, away beyond the German lines. Come with me. Don’t hesitate. Trust yourself in my care, I beg of you, Mademoiselle.”