"New orders. Something doing up front. Wait till my relief comes on in half an hour. Top-sergeant will tell you."
"But we must go forward," urged the major, rather vexed.
"Don't worry," advised the American. "General orders takes the 'must' out of mustard even, and don't you forget it. If you were a soldier, you'd learn that," and he chuckled. "Come on over to the dyke and sit down—you and the lady," and he favored Ruth with an admiring glance.
The American girl did not speak, and it was evident that the sentinel thought her French like her companion. The three strolled along to the grassy bank behind the trees and directly before the half-ruined house.
Shell fire had destroyed one end of it. But the other end wall was complete. On the second floor was a window. The lower sash was removed, but in the upper sash there were several small, unbroken panes of glass.
There was the smell of smoke in the air, and the two newcomers spied a little handful of fire blazing on a rock under the dyke. Here the sentinel had made his little camp, and it was evident that he had boiled coffee and toasted meat within the hour.
"Great housekeeping," he said, grinning. "When I get back home I guess my mother'll make me do all the kitchen work. Ain't war what General Sherman said it was—and then some?"
"But we wish to hurry on, Monsieur," said the major quietly.
"Nothing doing!" responded the sentinel. "I got particular orders not to let anybody pass—not even with the word. Just stick around a little while, you and the lady. Toppy'll be along soon."
Ruth wondered that the French officer did not reveal his identity. But she remained silent herself, knowing that Major Marchand must have good reason for not wishing his rank known.