She followed him, obeying his word. So they crept out of the marmite hole and up under the entanglement of wire. It was plain that this path had been used before.
Once clear of the barrier, they descended the last few steps to the shore of the lake. There was thick shrubbery here, but Major Marchand led through this to the narrow beach.
"Can it not be crossed by boat?" she whispered.
"This water can be seen from watchers of both armies. Its least disturbance—even that occasioned by a swimmer—would draw volleys of shots from Americans and Germans alike.
"Now, we follow along this narrow beach. Step in my track, if possible, Mademoiselle Fielding. And keep within touch of me."
They walked on steadily. Soon the track became soft and sticky. She sank ankle deep in mire. Then gradually the morass grew deeper and she was in mud and water up to her knees. Later she was plodding half-leg deep, panting deeply.
The Frenchman wished to get to a certain place before they halted. The girl was almost exhausted when the major leaped out upon a log and offered her his hand.
"Come up here, Mademoiselle," he whispered. "We shall be dry here—and we can rest."
She could not speak; but her breathing soon grew calmer. Major Marchand said, suddenly speaking in German:
"Forget your French, Fraulein—from this point on. The German tongue only for us."