"Very well, Deschamps," he said, "in that case I will see you in an hour's time."
"Can't we go with you part of the way, sir?" asked half a dozen of the smaller lads, clustering around him.
"No," came the decided reply, "most certainly not."
"But we want to see the fun!" piped up one of the smallest boys in the school.
The master put his hand kindly on the youngster's shoulder.
"Ah, Jacques, Jacques," he said, "pray that you may never see it! I am sick at heart to think of what may happen to this little village if the red tide of war rolls over it. Good-bye, boys; remember your trust. Come, Monroe, we must be going."
Some of the elder pupils stopped to shake hands with their old master, but most of the younger ones went running in groups along the village street, with fewer shouts than usual, eager to tell at home the strange happenings of that day at school. Horace and the master turned toward the end of the village, the old patriot taking the opportunity to warn the American lad against allowing the boys to go to extremes in exercising their new-found responsibilities.
"They are much more likely to be too strict than to be too slack," he said, "balance and judgment come with age and experience. They will need the curb, not the whip. I am torn with the idea of leaving the school when no one knows what may happen, but I cannot stay away from Liége. Hear how those guns continue!"
"Just what are you going to do there, sir?" asked Horace.