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"I shall call you mon cher Gaston, and you well, you will call me your petite Liane Liane de Bourbriac will sound well, will it not?" "Yes. But why this masquerade?" I inquired. "I confess, mademoiselle, I don't understand it at all." "Dear Bindo does. Ask him."
Tearing it open in surprise, I read the hastily pencilled lines it contained instructions in the Count's handwriting which were extremely puzzling, not to say disconcerting. The words I read were: "After crossing the frontier you will assume the name of Count de Bourbriac, and Valentine will pass as the Countess.
"Liane, Comtesse de Bourbriac, Château de Bourbriac, Côtes du Nord!" and her pretty lips parted, showing her even, pearly teeth. When, half an hour later, we entered the ballroom we found all smart Brussels assembled around a royal prince and his wife who had given their patronage in the cause of charity.
What sum was paid to the pretty Valentine by the French Intelligence Department for them I am not aware. I only know that she one day sent me a beautiful gold cigarette-case inscribed with the words "From Liane de Bourbriac," and inside it was a draft on the London branch of the Crédit Lyonnais for eight hundred and fifty pounds.
"When I met the German at Vichy I was passing as Countess de Bourbriac, and pretending that my husband was in Scotland. At first I avoided him," she said. "But later on I was told, in confidence, that he was a spy in the service of the War Office in Berlin.
"I don't suppose you do, just yet." "It's a risky proceeding, isn't it?" I queried. "Risky! What risk is there in gulling hotel people?" he asked. "If you don't intend to pay the bill it would be quite another matter." "But why is the lady to pass as my wife? Why am I the Count de Bourbriac? Why, indeed, are we here at all?" "That's our business, my dear Ewart. Leave matters to us.
At noon, surely enough, came a special invitation to the "Comte et Comtesse de Bourbriac" for the great ball that evening at the Hôtel Belle Vue, and at ten o'clock that night Valentine entered our private salon splendidly dressed in a low-cut gown of smoke-grey chiffon covered with sequins.
I am, after passing the frontier, to become Count de Bourbriac, and you are to pass as the Countess!" "Well?" she asked, arching her well-marked eyebrows. "Is that so very difficult, m'sieur? Are you disinclined to allow me to pass as your wife?" "Not at all," I replied, smiling. "Only well it is somewhat er unconventional, is it not?" "Rather an amusing adventure than otherwise," she laughed.
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