“Oh, Alan, perhaps Franz is an old servant of Herr Johann’s. Maybe he has charge of some property for him,” Lucy suggested, vaguely enough, in spite of her insistence.
“I thought you said he had been an Alsatian farmer,” objected Alan. “Oh, well, perhaps we’re making a fuss about nothing.”
In half an hour they were again skirting the cottage clearing. Franz had reached home and was engaged in unharnessing his team and putting wagon and animals into the shed behind the cottage.
“Too bad the donkey can’t tell us where it’s been,” said Alan, as a loud bray broke the stillness. He and Lucy paused a moment to watch the wood-cutter’s simple occupation.
Adelheid and Wilhelm were standing beside their father, Wilhelm with the donkey’s halter-rope in his hand. Franz cast a sharp glance toward the fringe of pines behind which Lucy and Alan stood. Then he spoke to Adelheid, who immediately looked in the same direction, then ran across the clearing and straight through the trees to Lucy’s side.
“Guten tag, Fräulein,” she panted, smiling her beaming smile, which Lucy hardly echoed in her bewildered surprise. “Papachen saw you here, and he asks if you and the Herr Officer will not come and warm yourselves in our cottage. It is growing cold.”
Lucy, unwilling enough, looked at Alan. He stared at Adelheid, then across the clearing at Franz, who stood on the cottage threshold, one hand on the latch, looking inquiringly toward them.
“This is a rum go,” Alan said at last. “Wonder when he saw us. Shall we go, Lucy? It seems to be our move.”
Lucy spoke to Adelheid. “I don’t think we’d better stop now, thank you very much. It’s rather late.”
“Please, Fräulein!” the child begged, her face suddenly clouded with disappointment. “Papachen invites you.” She repeated this as though to impress on Lucy the importance of such rare hospitality, and added, “You need only stop to warm yourselves. It is not yet dark.” She pulled gently at Lucy’s hand.