“Nice kind fellows the Germans seem,” he says casually, as he walks into the dining-room and takes his seat.
That is sufficient. The men nudge each other and direct mysterious glances towards the door. I am invited to arrest him! I murmur that M. le Directeur and the Bourgmestre have the prior right but that I shall be delighted to assist. On one condition. If found guilty the miscreant must be despatched round the corner and not before my eyes. The Bourgmestre when sent for will not come; I fetch M. le Directeur. “All unconscious of his fate” the spy is enjoying an excellent meal of bacon and eggs. He starts up as we enter and turns rather white. When challenged he opens his pocket-book and shows us his papers with admirable composure.
Dreadful error! On his card I read, “Monsieur Jottrand, Premier Avocat-Général à la Court d’Appel, Bruxelles.”
There is a burst of merriment from the peasants. They surge round him. M. le Directeur shakes him warmly by the hand. I rush to hide myself behind the big black stove in the kitchen.
The “spy” follows me in a moment later. “I congratulate myself, Mademoiselle,” he says. “I have never had the pleasure of being arrested by an Englishwoman before!”
M. Jottrand is tramping his way back to Brussels. He has lost all his luggage but is quite cheerful. So far he has escaped with his life. That is something these days.
Soon after he leaves us, German troops arrive in the village and knock at the doors of every house in Grand-Mesnil. “We give you one hour,” they say, “to remove those trees on the Bomale and Vielsalm roads.”
A hurried conference takes place between the peasants. I interrogate one of them in the street next day. “How about those trees?” I ask.
“Oh, we removed them all right,” he answers. “Not quite as the Prussians intended, however. Un pas de gattes (goat’s path). On a modest estimate it will take the German army about three years to pass along in single file!”