Stewart thrust his hand into his pocket and brought them forth.
“You are right,” he said, and rose unsteadily. “Where will I find General Joffre?”
The other had risen, too, and was supporting him with a strong hand.
“That I do not know,” he answered; “somewhere along the French frontier, no doubt, mustering his forces.”
Stewart looked about him uncertainly.
“If I were only stronger,” he began.
“Wait,” the little officer broke in. “I think I have it—I am expecting instructions from our headquarters at St. Trond—they should arrive at any moment—and I can send you back in the car which brings them. At headquarters they will be able to tell you something definite, and perhaps to help you.” He glanced anxiously toward the east and then cast an appraising eye over the intrenchments his troops had dug. “We can hold them back for a time,” he added, “but we need reënforcements badly. Ah, there comes the car!”
A powerful gray motor spun down the road from the west, kicking up a great cloud of dust, and in a moment the little captain had received his instructions. He tore the envelope open and read its contents eagerly. Then he turned to his men, his face shining.
“The Sixty-third will be here in half an hour!” he shouted. “We will give those fellows a hot dose this time!”
His men cheered the news with waving shakos, then, with a glance eastward, fell to work again on their trenches, which would have to be extended to accommodate the reënforcements. Their captain stepped close to the side of the purring car, made his report to an officer who sat beside the driver, and then the two carried on for a moment a low-toned conversation. More than once they glanced at Stewart, and the conversation ended with a sharp nod from the officer in the car. The other came hurrying back.