I MET her first in New York. In fact, it was a few moments after her miraculous escape from the very jaws of a horrible death, that she opened her eyes and smiled her thankfulness into my anxious gaze.

       I had been standing at the lower corner of the Great White Way and Thirty-third street, waiting for the signal that would start the great secret movement of mobilization with which the Minister of Foreign Affairs had commissioned my chief.

       War was brewing. In truth, from the secret dispatches, and closely worded cablegrams that came hourly to Monsieur Legaud, I was not sure that it had not already been formally declared.

       For three weeks we had been waiting anxiously for the dreaded cipher that would hurl us into the world war, with which the air was full. The French Empire had seriously determined to throw in her lot with England, and Count Bradsky had brought word from the winter palace that the Czar of all the Russians was ready to seal the compact with blood.

       With the assassination of the Arch Duke had come the first warning, to stand by, and on this particular evening every item was in perfect readiness for the final dash.

       Legaud was in perfect harmony with his government. He had been selected as the one man that could adequately perform his country's secret workings on this side of the Atlantic, and with his keen foresight, he had gathered around him the staunchest characters of shrewd, close-mouthed, silent men. I had met Legaud in Paris. We had been thrown together often in secret service work. I admired his method, and he liked mine. Thus it was that when France hailed him as her chosen spy, he singled me out as one of those who would serve him in his work.

       The task of gathering together the fighting units of "Le Garde Noir" — that invincible body of warring blacks, of which France was so justly proud — was indeed no easy matter. Born of fighting blood, these stalwart men, after accomplishing three full years of steady and arduous training, had wandered away over the face of the globe in search of a living, always holding themselves in perfect readiness to return at a moment's notice to the land of their adoption or birth to fight and die as their country found it requisite. Unlettered in a great degree, they worked and watched, and longed for the call.

       The officer's shrill whistle had sounded for the uptown traffic to start on its rushing way when the figure of a woman that had hurried itself along the pavement, darted into the street in the vain hope of eluding the confusing lights and deafening sounds. As well as I could see, a passing automobile closely screened, on which her eyes seemed centered, seemed to be the sole object of her attention. Disregarding the several shouts and imprecations with which the drivers showered her, she sped on her way in the middle of the street. The car on which her eyes rested paused for a moment as if gathering new force to itself, and as her hands reached out and grasped the dashboard preparatory to placing her feet on it, the machine darted away leaving her sprawling in the center of the track. In a moment I had seen her danger and darted to her side, and when a powerful limousine whizzed by within an inch of the place to which I had hurriedly snatched her, I heaved a sigh and dodged with her limp form to the curbing. It had been a narrow escape. In another second she would have been crushed to death beneath the powerful wheels of the speeding vehicle; as it was, I had saved her life, and I was thankful.

       The cab in which I placed her turned sharply round the Thirty-seventh street corner as my lady of the adventure sighed heavily and opened her eyes. From the card that I found in the little chatelaine bag suspended to her wrist, bearing the name of Leone D'Arcy, the Victoria Apartments, New York, I gathered that the first was her name with the address, and directed the driver there accordingly.

       From the moment that this girl of foreign birth, as I discovered that she was, opened those beautiful eyes and wearily smiled her gratefulness to me, I found myself slowly, but surely, drifting into that state of mind from which Legaud had time and again warned me, namely, sympathy. "It is not for the detective to sympathize, Monsieur," he had told me. "It is the grand mistake of the profession, for in the very sympathies we evince there is more than likely to be the foil to the objects we seek." At the time his sound philosophy had impressed me strikingly as of the greatest truth, and I had, heretofore strictly adhered thereto, but one glance into the ravishing sweetness of that perfect face had for the moment annihilated every lesson in philosophy and heart hardening that I had ever learned.

       "You feel better, miss," I ventured as she sat upright in the swiftly moving carriage and looked around. "But, yes, Monsieur," she flashed back sweetly in that piquant foreign accent which determined her then and there in my mind as a pure French woman of color.

       "How can I ever thank Monsieur for this most wonderful kindness that he has shown towards such a stranger?"

       "By saying nothing about it Mademoiselle," I managed to blunder out as I drank in the beauty of her dainty face.

       "Monsieur will add another kindness to his superb gallantry if he will see me to my home," she partly questioned and partly asserted, as she extracted and handed me the card to which I have already referred.

       "With the greatest pleasure, Mademoiselle," I readily replied as a passing vision of Legaud searching anxiously for me at the appointed meeting place flashed vividly through my mind.

       As she settled back in the confines of the silken cushions, and closed her eyes in perfect confidence, and sheer exhaustion, I was able, by the light of the hurrying lamp posts, to study her closely.

       She was a young woman of about twenty-one or two. Her skin was of that soft, velvety olive complexion for which the Creole women of Martinique and New Orleans are famous. She possessed a mass of raven black glossy hair that was coiled artistically around the small, shapely head. Her eyes were large and soft, eloquent with hidden fire, yet soft and lustrous in their passive state. Her face was of a perfect oval, with a beautiful mouth that arched itself to the semblance of cupid's bow. Her form was slight and willowy, and from the choice material from which her dress was made, as also the pure glitter of the stones that blinked at me from her hands and ears, judged her to be the daughter of some wealthy family, either at home or abroad who were desirous of their daughter finishing her education by seeing the world and America most of all.

       As we ascended the elevator to the apartments on the third floor, I noticed that a worried look began stealing over her face, and when the little sombre maid ushered us into the dimly lighted sitting room of soft velvet and rich mahogany, Mademoiselle D'Arcy flung herself dejectedly into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

       The whole evening's procedure had been a source of great interest to me, and though I knew Legaud might be hunting everywhere for me at that very moment, still I determined to get to the bottom of the strange case of this girl sobbing so helplessly there before my eyes. For a few moments she sobbed on, and then as if remembering that she was not alone. the girl raised herself and gazed unfalteringly at me. while she said in a somewhat broken voice, "Monsieur will pardon one whose very soul is rent and torn by merciless defeat at the very moment of triumph."

       I hardly knew what answer to make, and so I mumbled something while she rambled on. "I have worked, Monsieur, worked hard for my country and for her men. For weeks I have searched and hunted, and trailed and watched, and now, now when it is time, aye, the very moment when I should accomplish that for which I have toiled, I miss my quarry and stalk a ghost."

       Again she buried her face and clenched her small hands. I was becoming mystified. Curiosity and interest was getting the better of me, and I asked "If Mademoiselle would tell me the nature of her defeat, there is a possibility that I could be of some assistance." "Is Monsieur a servant of France, and does he not know that Le Garde Noir has disappeared altogether, and that the Fraulein Kuebling, the German secret agent, has put them beyond the reach of France?"

       It might ha, e been the startled expression that she saw depicted on my face, or it might have been the discovery she had made that I was an agent of the country on which her mind was centered that caused her to smile with those beautiful wet eyes at me, but whichever it was. I must admit that I felt startled and amazed at the turn that affairs had taken as far as Mademoiselle D'Arcy "LE GARDE NOIR" and myself were concerned. "Your name Mademoiselle?" I asked, disregarding the strip of paste board that I held in my hand.

       "Leone of the Guards, Daughter of France, and trusted spy," she flashed forth as she threw back her coat and revealed the miniature shield. Here indeed was adventure, romance or any other name by which it may be called.

       For had not Legaud employed every means at his command to get in touch with this very girl who held the most important knowledge regarding the various movements of the sparring nations at her finger's end, and without success.

       "Your story, Mademoiselle," I made bold to ask, "and how did you know my business?"

       The girl looked at me for a moment, and then smiled as she answered, "You keep your badge well hidden Monsieur, but you have forgotten to change your studs."

       For a moment I felt foolish at being so easily detected by this small parcel of womanhood, but on reflecting that she herself was an agent of the government, and, therefore, well versed in all the secrets of the profession, I realized that there was no other alternative than that she should discover my secret as the curiously-shaped button I wore was the only recognizing mark that would identify me with the others of my profession and country.

       "Monsieur will do himself and his country a great kindness if he and his colleagues will desist entirely from any further efforts to bring together "Le Garde Noir," for every move that Monsieur and his friends make is most closely watched, and every effort that may be made to muster them, will only tend to drive them further away from France." She sat and looked at me, a troubled expression the while creeping over her beautiful countenance.

       "But Mademoiselle, we must find the Guards; we are many in number, and besides, the soldiers are expecting a call at any time," I remonstrated.

       "Tres Bien Monsieur," she shrugged her shoulders, "which means that you will never find them in time for transportation. and what is more, oh, Monsieur, is this, that Legaud and his men will undo all that I have already done."

       I was anxious to find out just how much had been done by this shrewd female sleuth of the government, who from all appearance had been working on inside information received directly from headquarters, while we were left to grope unwittingly in the dark, and so I asked in the most unconcerned manner. "What then have you done, Mademoiselle?"

       "I have found and trailed to earth the one great brain, Monsieur, which holds the secret of France in its power. Another move without misfortune shall land us safe and clear, but Monsieur must promise, aye swear here and now that Legaud will not move to Muster 'Le Garde Noir' till Leone gives him leave."

       This was becoming indeed interesting. Here was I, a sworn servant of my country, commissioned to perform a certain service of great importance that was probably even now waiting while I sat in a woman's apartments, preparing to swear my very vows away.

       "But Mademoiselle Leone," I protested, "France has not commissioned us to work together; in fact, my chief had no word from his government that you were here in America working in secret for Le Garde Noir, and it was only by chance that he heard of you through the consular service; how then is it possible for us to desist from this all important movement merely because of your suggestion?"

       The girl sat quietly for a moment as if lost in deep thought, and when she replied, her voice had a certain determined ring of decision in it that was lost on me for the time. I had cause to remember it after very clearly.

       "Monsieur knows well that France employs many servants; the one works while the other watches, and vice versa. I came here three months ago. My work was to locate and report the condition of Le Garde. I found them in groups as per my directions scattered all over the country. I located them all, then trouble started at home. There were demands made by the German Empire that were unsatisfactory to France. The world knew little of this, but I knew. One day I went to a town in Ohio, where a hundred men were employed, who bore the secret ensign of Le Garde Noir — they were gone. Then I visited other towns, they were gone also. I knew then that war was coming, Monsieur. In six weeks every group had changed location. nor could they be found. Large sums of gold were used, and much ingenuity employed. I worked, Monsieur, worked night and day to bring to bay the hand that has worked this evil. I have told no one my secret, and everything was ready for the final coup when I fell and lost my clue."

       She stopped short, and stamped her foot in wrath.

       "You were in quest of the person in the automobile?" I asked.

       "But yes, Monsieur. There rode the brain that will mar Le Patrie, unless Leone stays its hand."

       "Then you should have our help and co-operation, Mademoiselle Leone," I said, thinking to gain a point.

       "Ah, but men can match men Monsieur, but it is only women that can match women."

       "Then the Fraulein Kuebling is the brain that you spoke of?" I asked.

       "Yes, and one false move of France will deprive her forever of the soldier she holds most dear."

       "Which means" —

       "That Monsieur Legaud must disregard all orders from the foreign minister, and wait the word of Leone."

       I could hardly refrain from smiling at the importance she attached to the last sentence, and secretly I made up my mind to take myself off to Legaud and communicate to him the important facts that I had discovered.

       While the above conversation was in progress, the girl had shifted her position two or three times, and now she was sitting on a low stool a few feet from me, looking up into my face in the most bewitching manner.

       I am not given much to the softer passions, neither am I a mad lover of romance, but I must confess that the sight of that beautiful upturned face, and the deep coloring of those matchless eyes, to say nothing of the superb form that nestled so closely by me, were all matters to cause me to forget for the time being France and her troubles, "Le Garde Noir," my chief, and all else, but Leone.

(To be continued.)

       THE inevitable had come. War was declared; and with the dread summons had ensued that mighty confusion and effervescence of superhuman energy that drives the world mad with excitement. The under sea cables hummed with the burden of their messages. The wireless stations throbbed and spluttered with the conflicting currents that sent the news speeding to the uttermost end of the earth. The mighty cannons that had lain useless for years were ruthlessly hauled into the hourly departing trains. Strong men kissed their mothers and said good-bye and marched away to die. Helpless wives wept and smiled and bade their men God speed. The band in the square struck up its tune and charmed the men away. They went, these men, full of life and health and youth and mirth, full of patriotism and pride. They marched away to the sound of the music — marched away never to return.

       I had left America. In the very midst of my activities, and while the trail was hot, I was hastily summoned home by my Government. home to lose myself amid the dizzy whirl of war while my heart was yet warm with pulsing adoration and love for Leone. I had given her my word, dear reader, yes, given her my solemn word that Legaud should never know the movements of "Le Garde." Do you blame me? Do you call me traitor? I blame myself and heap upon my unhallowed head every despicable adjective that is known to a treacherous traitor. My one excuse is love. I loved her. With all the strong passions born of undying devotion, with every tender memory made sacred by the tie of affection, by all that is sacred and holy and by all that is good in me, I swear I loved Leone D'Arcy.

       From the night that I sat in her apartments watching the play of her chameleon like emotions, I conceived a strong and undying devotion to this small, sweet devoted daughter of France.

       For days I had seen my chief groping in the darkness of an aggravating mystery and with cold complacency, and a sinking heart, T had watched him blunder along, while all the while I was fully aware that he would make but little headway unless he possessed the key to the baffling mystery of the whereabouts of "The Guard."

       "You see, mon cher," Leone had told me after I had invaded her rooms at least six times during one week of blissful companionship. "It will avail France but little if she loses her soldiers by setting against another. If Monsieur Legaud possessed the key and would work alone in order that he might accomplish that that would make France victorious, I should most willingly discard every effort that would be an obstacle in his way, and as this happens to be my case is it not but natural that I should expect him to do likewise?"

       I had admitted the truth of her philosophical reasoning at the time more from the fact that it pleased her and also because I felt my heart going out more and more to this one woman who had captured my very reason and sense by the witchery of sweet femininity. "Let me work alone a few more days mon ami," she had said, "a few more days of devotion to the cause of France. Promise me that you will grant me this clemency, and then, then mon Jean, my heart, my soul, my very all shall be yours." And I had promised. With the giving of my word, I had steeled my heart against every effort to assist Legaud in the zeal of his trying undertaking, and I was succeeding excellently in my act of deception and double dealing when war came and I was recalled to France.

       It was a sad parting, this tearing of myself away from the woman for whom I had deceived my country. Leone had given me her affection; in truth she had promised to become my wife, but when on the evening that I had received the call to muster home, I had gone to her and asked her to marry me then; she had smiled her sweetest and shook her dainty head. No, Jean, we will marry and laugh and sing "when France is victorious and the earth is ringing with her praise. but while she throbs under the throes of war, we will mourn and fight and watch with her, aye, even until the last hour."

       Was ever devotion and patriotism more sublime? And in the face of it, I could urge my suit no more, so I kissed her face and hugged her close and said good-bye and left. "Be brave, mon Jean, brave as the lion that roams the wildest field," she had whispered to me as I held her hand and lingered on the threshold of the door "We shall meet again in France. Look anywhere for me. Hunt hard, my friend, for if the war goes well, I may be found in the peaceful confines of the Louxembourg ruminating on the wonders of modern art; but if it's ill, then where the fight is hottest, and where the breach is wide, there you may expect to find Leone; your own Leone of the Guards, daughter of France and trusted spy."

       Her eyes had glowed with the enthusiasm of her words while her breast rose and fell with wild emotion as she flung her twining arms around my neck and implanted a long and loving kiss on my lips and then vanished into the semidarkness within. And so I left America, little dreaming where I should ever meet this wonderful girl again.

*       *       *       *      *

       I was going mad. Mad and insane with the incessant sound of bursting shells that shrieked and spluttered and exploded over and around the half filled trench of stagnant water in which I lay. For weeks I had watched my comrades being carted away in twos and threes and dozens. some from wounds, some dead and a great many mad and jibbering. Strong, hearty men turned simple and childish from the effects of the merciless war. The battle of Louvain had been fought and won. Rheims was yet sweltering under the incessant heat of the Teuton shell; Paris had been fearfully threatened, and we were now at the Marne.

       Will history ever repeat in full the battle of the Marne? Will the unborn generations ever know of this gigantic, hell born struggle that cost a million lives? No pen can adequately do justice to this, the greatest of all human efforts, nor can any recall the multitudinous events that combined to stamp this battle as the most stupendous conflict ever waged on earth.

       On the last day of the battle our division was resting after a forty-eight hour steady fighting along a three-mile front of trenches. The men were spent and weary and many were dying where they lay. For days the battle had waged with varying success and at times the Teuton arms well nigh drove us from our trenches. The soft bullets and the intolerable poisoned gases were working havoc amongst us. A few more days of this and every man in our company would be dead. The English and Scottish soldiers who fought alongside of us were bearing up bravely under the strain, and though their men fell like flies around the field, still the courage of those that remained was undaunted.

       The East Indians who joined our division a mile or so further up the river where the stream bends toward the south had gorged their thirst for blood and covered themselves with glory. The Germans were fighting as never men fought before. Time and again they had carried our trenches and well nigh drove us from the field with their overwhelming numbers and hellish artifice, but reinforcements or Providence or General Joffre's word had always intervened in time to save us from defeat. And so we killed and slew and butchered and died till we were faint and spent.

       It was just after sunrise on this memorable day when the word was passed along the line that an overwhelming army of Germans were advancing to the attack. With it had come the message from the commanding general that France expected every man to fight and die, but never to retreat. Our trenches were well honey combed through the vast and magnificent Bourgiere estates, and though we were on the right bank of the greater Marne river, and somewhat sheltered by the woods of L'Abelon demense, still our exposure as a whole was just now much more to the point, rather than instituting an offensive movement.

       It was very evident that if we were to cope successfully with this vast horde of oncoming soldiers we must have immediate reinforcement, and our captain, Monsieur Boule, was just in the act of communicating this most important phase of the situation to us when we were all startled by the rapid advance of a full sized company to the rear and left of our position. Imagine the joy and relief that sped along the distressed trenches when we discovered that this new body comprised the entire body of the Eleventh Louanes, one of the crack regiments of France, and many of the descendants of the men who had fought under Napoleon at Jena and Waterloo. It was but the work of a few moments to disperse the men as they were needed along the entire division, and I was just in the act of striking up a trench acquaintance with the new men who had scrambled into our hole, when I looked around and found myself looking into the very eyes of Legaud. He recognized me almost at the same moment, and we scrambled towards each other.

       "But it's your very self, Jean Dumont," he almost shouted as he grasped my outstretched hand and patted me joyously on the shoulder in true French fashion. "How did you come to be with us?" I finally asked when our enthusiasm at finding each other had somewhat subsided. His countenance fell a trifle as he shrugged his heavy shoulder and replied, "France needs every man that she can find alike. She is drawing on all her resources and must continue to do so until she reaches her full military strength, which brings me to the point on which you are most anxious to be informed and that is that Mademoiselle D'Arcy and the entire company of 'Le Garde Noir' are now safely encamped around the Tuilleries Garden in Paris, and for all I know the latter may be hastily pushing their way to the Marne at this minute."

       Legaud looked straight into my face and then began laughing in his soft easy manner. I was happy, ashamed and confused all at once in the presence of my chief, whom I had so wilfully deceived, and yet I felt a secret joy in knowing that Leone had accomplished that unsurmountable task of mustering together the units of "Le Garde Noir." I tried to suppress the excitement in my voice as I asked him to tell me all that had occurred since I left America.

       Before he could answer, and while a general movement began stirring the trenches, such as the running to and fro of emissaries with orders from one commander to another, the shells that we were expecting began raining like hail around us. It was evident from the continual rumbling and tremor of the earth that a terrific battle was raging lower down the river. The trenches were spread out for hundreds of miles along the whole length of the Marne, and news only got to us by mere accident or rumor as the troops were shifted from one point to another. In truth the outside world was more conversant with the details of the war than we who were directly concerned in it.

       "This is probably the beginning of the end, Jean," Legaud shouted, as the terrific noise caused by the heavy artillery that boomed and belched fire and death around our ears and which made conversation difficult.

       I nodded my assent and slipped more bullets into my breach loader. Legaud beckoned me closer to him and, with his mouth in close contact and almost touching my half-numbed ear, he told me the story of Leone.

       "You had been gone but ten weeks," he began. "when one night a telegram reached me from Detroit bidding me to come at once. On my arrival there I was met by Mademoiselle D'Arcy. who glowingly informed me that she had successfully run to earth the German female agent Fraulein Kuehling, at whose hands Le Garde Noir had been so foully tampered with. She told me that she had tracked the German woman to a hotel in the little town of Homer in South Michigan, and, watching her opportunity, she had disguised herself as a maid and went to the agent's room. Under the pretense of making up the room, she had grappled with the woman, taking her wholly by surprise. Leone's greatest object was to keep her opponent from screaming, and for this she had prepared a gag which she lost no time in stuffing in the German woman's mouth. But with all this she had found that the Fraulein Kuebling was no miscreant, and it was only by freely using the chloroform with which she had previously supplied herself that she was able to finally subdue and bind her enemy. Her next move, she told me, was to get in league with a French doctor at the hospital, who came hurriedly to the hotel on a special call, and, after seeing the patient who had taken suddenly ill during the night, he ordered her immediate removal to a private sanitarium situated on the outskirts of Homer. She told me that she had then gone back to the room to search for papers, but had found none and that it was only when Fraulein Kuebling's hair had been pulled down and opened that the little map, showing the towns where every separate group of Le Garde Noir had been sent, that she had breathed a sigh of relief and sent for me.

       "Before going in search of the men, she knew that she needed money to buy back the soldiers who had literally been bought away from France. and in her want of the ready cash, she had sent for me. Having procured her the money from some of our agencies in the West, she had sent me back to New York with the understanding that I was to open a private station for the purpose of taking care of the men when they arrived. Three days after my arrival in New York a contingent of twenty men came to the station, and for three weeks the steady flow of incoming soldiers reached me until every single man of the Black Guard was in town, and ready to sail for France. With the last batch, Leone had come and, after my complimenting her on the splendid achievement that she had made, she revealed to me your dastardly part in the whole affair and told me of her connections with you."

       Here Legaud again laughed in his soft piercing manner as he peered roguishly into my downcast eyes. "It is all right, Jean. It was all for the best. It showed very poor patriotism on your part to go against your orders for a woman, but —"

       He was cut short from further speech by a huge clod of earth that came surging down into the trench right in our faces as a result of the havoc the splintering shells were making on the outside. From this time on, further speech was an utter impossibility, nor did men care to talk. Fighting had become the business of the hour and this same business was in rapid progress.

       After the heavy artillery duel, the Germans had charged our position with a fury that was almost irresistible. Time and again we had counter-charged and borne them back to their trenches. They seemed determined to dislodge us and on the other hand our minds were fully made up to carry their position or die in the attempt. Back and forth for nine hours the struggle waged and waned. The dead and wounded were heaped up on all sides like piles of rubbish and dead wood. With every new and desperate charge, the lives were thinned on both sides. In a few hours it would be dark and from the evidences that we saw around us, there would be no cessation to the fighting. It was war to the death, war to the bitter end. It was some hours past midday, and just after one of the heaviest sorties that we had had, when it was rumored that the Germans in our division of the battle had received heavy reinforcements, and were preparing for a last desperate effort. This news did not strike us as being very consoling, as our lines were very thin and no sign or word of help to our arms had been seen or sent to us. Before we could collect ourselves and make ready, another and more determined effort to break us had been made.

       The Germans were right in amongst us. With savage yells, they rushed on our fixed bayonets, cutting and jabbing with their thick, short swords that did duty both for bayonet and short lance. The fight was on. With breast locked to breast, and eye to eye, we swayed and tottered in the dread embrace of death. Had this continued we would have eventually driven the Teutons into the river to sink and drown as we had done on a previous occasion, but when, on looking over the field, we saw a fresh detachment coming toward us, our faith wavered, also our lines. This meant sure defeat unless something happened, and something did happen.

       As I said before, we were on the point of wavering. In fact it was a physical impossibility for us to have held up against overwhelming odds. In another hour we would have been mowed down, and I was even now hastily tying a faded handkerchief around my left hand which had been shot through, when a yell, the significance of which I knew only too well, sounded on my ear. It was the battle yell of Le Garde Noir and all France and every soldier knew its deathless ring. I drove my bayonet through the man that was preparing to cut me down with a blow, and looked out across the field. Imagine then, if you can, my surprise and astonishment, when right in front of the company of advancing blacks, and charging down upon us with the fury of a mad mayeppa, I saw Leone D'Arcy, daughter of France, my affianced wife.

       I have lain awake many nights since that memorable day living over again this scene so vividly photographed in my mind. At times the groans and moans in the hospital around my cot would distract my attention for awhile, but ever and anon my weary mind would revert to the Marne and Leone.

       In a few moments Le Garde Noir, with their gallant leader, had reached our sides and thrown themselves upon the enemy. Like mad furies made doubly furious by the sight of blood, they hacked their way into the center of the field. The German army crumpled and withered before the impact of their terrible attack. Everywhere they appeared always killing and crushing and mauling every man that appeared in their path and at every point, charging and shouting and directing their movements appeared Leone, the only woman on the field.

       It was near sundown when the Germans finally broke and fled, their number dwindled to a small percentage. With the tenacity of veteran warriors, they had held on until the last, but the unexpected arrival of Le Garde Noir, with their undaunted courage had been too much for them, and much as they hated to admit defeat at the hands of the warring blacks, they that remained were compelled to seek cover or suffer complete annihilation from the efforts of our strengthened arms. The pursuit of the Germans was in full blast when a mighty shout, coming as it were from the farthest end of France and seeming to lose itself in the upper confines of the Belgian forest, rent the air around us. We knew the significance of that mighty note of gladness and we took it up and hurled it along the line. "Viva la France; Viva la Allies." Our arms had been victorious; the battle of the Marne was won.

       The rejoicing and confusion that followed the Victory of the Marne has probably never had a parallel in the history of the world. Commanders and men, well men and wounded — they all lost their heads and shouted and wept. The companies merged themselves one into another as they rushed from place to place, singing and congratulating one another. The field telephones were kept busy transmitting the messages back and forth. Word had been received that the Germans had been completely beaten along the whole length of the river. Time and again the shout rent the air. "Viva la France!" "Viva le Garde Noir." The Guards were the heroes of the day. They had turned the tide of battle and brought victory to our arms.

       But where was Leone? From the moment of the assurance of victory, I had commenced a systematic search for my fiance. Disregarding the mad confusion and wild rush of men here and there, I plodded my way from trench to trench, from breastwork to boulder, looking, looking, looking. I encountered others engaged in the same task as myself. There were those of Le Garde Noir who had not forgotten their gallant leader, and small parties of these men were hunting, and with flaring torches, in the hope of finding the girl. In a little while the search had become general, and when, at the expiration of an hour, I found her lying alongside of a score of her men, all wounded and some dead, my heart almost jumped out of my breast with excitement and fear lest she was also dead.

       In a second I had extracted her from the debris of maimed and dead men around her, and found to my horror that she had been seriously wounded by a fragment of shell. Hurriedly and sorrowfully we bore her to the rear of the trenches, where we found the field doctors already submerged in the work of patching up those who were not utterly beyond hope. In my haste and excitement I snatched at Dr. Henry, an American physician of great skill and experience. Seeing my condition, he hastily concluded what he was doing and turned his attention towards the girl.

       In my profession as detective and soldier, I have experienced many instances of suspense and anxiety, but never in all the history of my life have I ever gone through so terrible an ordeal as I did on the night of the battle of the Marne. For me the joy of victory was a meaningless word. What if France had gained a battle, if I had lost Leone? It seemed like hours before the doctor concluded his examination and told me that it was only with the greatest of care that she would recover. The splinter of a poisoned shell had pierced her left side, he said, and the impact had caused a jolt to the heart which was then performing its function in a very indifferent manner.

       By now the rumor of the female leader of Le Garde had spread among the soldiers, and when, from the effects of the restorative given her, Leone opened her eyes, she saw before her a vast sea of heads, both white and black, looking at her with the deepest sorrow and concern depicted on their war-stained and begrimed faces. Her large eyes wandered curiously over the crowd, and at last rested on me. For a moment she seemed dazed and puzzled, but when, with the sound of my voice her memory returned, she smiled at me and nodded her head. I whispered something in her ear in the hope that she would speak to me, and as she in return whispered my name and pressed my hand with her bloodless fingers, my joy for this small token of recognition was boundless.

       It was toward morning when, after the dressing and bandaging of her wound. Leone again opened her eyes. This time her reason and voice were fully restored, and she recognized me at once The crude tent that did service both as operating room and hospital was crowded to the very door, and the little cot on which the girl lay was not far removed from the opening.

       "They have done for me, Jean," were the first words she said. "I feel poison from that cruel shell creeping through my blood, but we have gained the day, Jean: we have gained the day. What matter if one more or less die, my friend — what matter — so long as France is victorious?" Her eyes sought mine and she must have seen the look of sorrow on my face that I so plainly felt in my breast, for she hastily remarked. "Forgive me, mon Jean, mon ami mon cher, forgive me. I know you needed me for yourself, dear, and I wanted you, oh, so much, Jean, but France called me first, and I have answered with my life."

       I could not conceive the idea that death was near to this girl, so young and beautiful and so brave. Of all the thousands of men on the battlefield, why should she, a mere woman and one who had outdistanced her sex in this gruesome art of war, be selected as a victim of sacrifice to the barren maw of the unholy glutton? It was an outrage against civilization and every moral virtue that comprises the law of God. There was no justice in war, and war was indeed Hell.

       Leone was dying. Although she spoke cheerfully and jested about the seriousness of her wound in an endeavor to throw me off, yet instinctively and in my inmost soul I felt that she could not live. I begged permission to be allowed to stay with her, pleading the uselessness of my perforated arm as a very tangible excuse. The lines were forming again. There would be more shooting and killing. The ambulances were already rushing the hundreds of wounded soldiers to the hospitals established in the rear of our lines. Men who had lain for twelve hours in the clotted blood of their several wounds were now being rushed behind for repairs, so that they might be forced to go through the same scene again. It was a ghastly sight. The price of victory was incalculable in the lives and health of the soldiers. The news of Leone's bravery had traveled the whole length of the lines. Men sung her praises, and swore by her gallant deeds. Until some new phase of the war should occupy their minds. the daughter of France and victory were their only subject. Our commanding general had been telephoned the whole story of the girl's bravery, and when his car arrived shortly after midday at the temporary hospital. he quickly and seriously decorated Leone with the order Gallantry and Distinguished Conduct. If Leone had commanded respect before, she received a double portion of reverence after this. With every new visitor presents and flowers and congratulations had been showered upon her. She seemed to enjoy all this immensely and smiled faintly her gratefulness to the many comrades that stood around her. To me it was all bitterness. What mattered the presents or the decoration or the honor if she died? France might have kept all this if she would give me back the woman I loved.

       "It is my own fault, Jean. They begged me not to come. In truth, the commander told me it was not to be thought of, but I wished to be in a real fight. I wanted to do something for France. I pleaded with some of the men and they disguised me and smuggled me out of Paris among them. Then, when it was too late to turn back, they told me to lead them. They said that I had found them in America, and that I should lead them on to victory. I could not refuse, Jean. It was the offer of my life, and I just had to take it."

       The doctor came and told her not to talk. He took her temperature and bowed his head. She lingered till evening. She told me of the undying love that she would carry to the grave for me. She spoke of the good that the fighting of the bygone day would do. She told me of the old father she left in Paris, who was even now watching for his daughter's return. She begged me to always remember her, and to always bear in mind that if she had not been France's she would have been mine. She consoled me as well as she could. She gave me the little ring and shield that she wore, and bade me take a lock of her hair, and when, with streaming eyes and trembling hands, I had complied with all her requests, she smiled and beckoned me to kiss her on her lips. Then she closed her eyes and slept. The bugle was sounding the assembly when she opened her eyes again. Her voice was hoarse and rattling as she turned to me and said: "It's the assembly, Jean; France is calling us to arms. We'll muster in and fight. Jean — we'll fight for liberty or death." The last words failed on her lips, and with one long, heavy sigh, she lay back in my arms.

*       *       *       *      *

       We buried her on the little mound beside the Marne. At the place where she had fought and died, tender hands lowered her to her martial resting place. The vast army of grim followers that stood around the little grave shed tears of genuine sorrow at the loss of their little comrade. Le Garde Noir, or what was left of them, did honor to the last remains of her that had been both saviour and leader to them. Legaud hobbled upon a crutch to watch the last sad measure of respect to the woman who had been his most successful rival.

       And so I lost her. At the very moment when we had found each other, we two that loved each other for ourselves — I lost her in the terrible throes of war. Will France ever remember this? Amid the mad turmoil of the ensuing days, will she remember this daughter of color that guided her men to victory and gave her life, too? Who can tell?

       In loving memory, I carved a little wooden slab with the one hand that I still possessed — a little token of the tender love I bore her. It was simple and it was plain, but it bore the name — the cherished best on earth — the name of "Leone of the Guards — Daughter of France and trusted spy."

(The End)