buildings all told of great wealth.

Many of the places lay in ruins, but here and there arose a dazzling
white marble building that bad happily escaped the destruction of the
iron rain that had poured over the ill-fated city. Many of these were
occupied by the officers and men of the invading army. Destruction of
the worst sort went with them, and the unhappy owners had, whenever
possible, secreted the most valuable of their belongings. Pictures,
jewels, silver, furs and even rugs were hidden in secret vaults or
buried in gardens and cellars. For the people of Warsaw, as well as
their fair city, were ruined, although sooner or later the scraps saved
could be converted into money. Rich and poor fared alike; for the
present, at least, everyone needed food and, safe shelter.

In the dining-room of one of the finest places saved from the
destroying shells sat a group of officers. They were big, blonde men,
and they talked roughly and rapidly in their native German. It was
plain to see that they were quarreling. One of them, rising from the
great carved chair in which he had been lounging, kicked it from his
path and walked nervously up and down the room. He was scowling
ferociously while with his saber point he jabbed little holes in the
Russian leather covering the back of the chair opposite him.

He shook his head as the man who was walking up and down neared his
chair.

"I tell you, Otto, you can't do it," he said. "You can't burry things
so. Those people are Americans. You can't execute that old man on a
bare suspicion. What if his notes are a code? We have them, at all
events; and we have him; and we must wait until the General returns."