Now and then, in perfect German, he whispered a question. Always he
received a reply. And stowed it away in his tenacious memory for those
it most concerned.
At daylight he was asleep by Sara Lee's kitchen fire. And at daylight
Sara Lee was awakened by much firing, and putting on a dressing gown she
went out to see what was happening. Rene was in the street looking
toward the poplar trees.
"An attack," he said briefly.
"You mean--the Germans?"
"Yes, mademoiselle."
She went back into the little ruined house, heavy-hearted. She knew now
what it meant, an attack. That night there would be ambulances in the
street, and word would come up that certain men were gone--would never
seek warmth and shelter in her kitchen or beg like children for a second
bowl of soup.
On the kitchen floor by the dying fire Henri lay asleep.
XIII
Much has been said of the work of spies--said and written. Here is a
woman in Paris sending forbidden messages on a marked coin. Men are
tapped on the shoulder by a civil gentleman in a sack suit, and walk
away with him, never to be seen again.
But of one sort of spy nothing has been written and but little is known.
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