The truth was that he had heard it over his secret wireless only that morning.
“Who won?”
“Unfortunately, the Germans.”
“Ah!” sighed the girl. “It is always so. When shall we ever have a victory?”
“Who knows, Mademoiselle? Let us hope it will be very soon. Belgium will never be crushed.”
“Not so long as a single man remains alive who can carry a gun,” declared the Baron fiercely. “I wish I were younger. I’d go to the front at once and do my share.”
“As Edmond Valentin has gone,” Aimée remarked, more in order to spite Arnaud Rigaux than anything else.
In a second the spy’s face was wreathed in smiles.
“Ah, how is M’sieur Valentin? where is he, Mademoiselle?” he inquired.
“He is with the Eighth Chasseurs-à-pied, somewhere near Liège.”