red motor. Gasoline was his life's blood and his pulse-beats were only
the throb of the engine, but, to Billie, he was a faithful and devoted
soul and she was not quite prepared to say what she would do in order to
save him from destruction.

However, at the moment that the band of young men, scarcely more than
boys any of them, reached the car, some one sprang into the machine from
the other side.

Turning quickly, Billie was confronted by a tall, slender young woman in
a white serge suit and a big black hat. She had a dark, creamy
complexion, dark eyes that slanted slightly and hair of a queer mousy
shade of brown.

"Wait," said the stranger, "I will speak to them," and mounting the seat,
she addressed the crowd in their own tongue with extraordinary fluency,
the girls thought, remembering what they had heard concerning the
difficulties of that language. There was an elegance and fascination
indescribable about the stranger. Nancy recognized her instantly as the
lady in the garden. Miss Campbell knew her as Mme. Fontaine, newspaper
correspondent. The others in the party imagined her to be almost anything
romantic and interesting; perhaps a foreign princess; a great actress;
something remarkable, surely.

In a beautiful, cultured voice, far reaching in spite of its soft tones,
she harangued the multitude which little by little fell back. The group
of fierce young men put away their weapons and disappeared in the mob.
The little boy, the cause of all the trouble, was now standing on his
feet blinking his eyes at Miss Campbell. How the picture was stamped on
their minds like a vividly colored print!