“The German leaned forward. He took up the revolver and tapped it against the nearer candlestick. ‘If you lie, you die,’ he said roughly, yet it seemed to me, monsieur, as if he wished to believe me, as if he desired something of me, as if a new thought had risen in his mind, or a new and better impulse in his soul, and as if he had resolved on a higher course. I have been a parish priest, monsieur; I needs must know the human heart.
“The door opened and the sentry entered, pushing before him old Piet, the man-of-all-work in the monastery cellars—old Piet whom we had forgotten and left behind when we fled to Malines. He was trembling like an aspen leaf and he bent almost to the floor.
“‘Stick him with the bayonet if he doesn’t stand up,’ the Lieutenant roared. ‘Do you know this person?’ He pointed at me.
“Piet did not look up.
“‘Speak out!’ thundered the officer. ‘Do you know him?’
“‘I cannot understand.’
“‘Hein? hein? You know him?’
“Piet stole a glance at me. ‘Nay,’ he whispered.
“The Lieutenant rose from his chair. His face became the face of a madman. He whipped the revolver from the table and pointed it wildly. His hand shook, his eyes rolled, so that even the sentry was terrified and tried to hide behind old Piet and me. ‘Bitte! Bitte!’ he ejaculated, ‘Bitte, Herr Leutnant!’ But suddenly my courage came, and I spoke swiftly in the familiar Flemish.
“‘Don’t you know me, Piet?’ I asked. ‘I am Brother Jan. Surely you know me!’