"I don't think, Jean-Herve-Marie-Olivier," I reflected, "that you ever
talked to the Germans except with bombs. They probably got you, poor
chap, and you're lying buried somewhere while the gossips make a holiday
of the fact that you don't come home. Confound 'current rumors' anyhow,
and yellow papers too!"

"I beg your pardon," said a low contralto voice.

The girl in the fur coat was standing at my shoulder. I turned, lifting
my cap, wondering what under heaven she could want. I was not much
pleased to tell the truth; a goddess shouldn't step from her pedestal
to chat with strangers. Then suddenly I recognized a distinct oddness in
her air.

"Would you lend me your paper," she was asking, "for just a moment? I
haven't seen one since morning; the evening editions were not out when I
came on board."

Her manner was proud, spirited, gracious; she even smiled; but she was
frightened. I could read it in her slight pallor, in the quickening of
her breath.

My extra! What was there in the day's news that could upset her? I was
nonplussed, but of course I at once extended the sheet.

"Certainly!" I replied politely. "Pray keep it." Lifting my cap a second
time, I turned to go.

Her fingers touched my arm.