“Château Chantillon still stands, and there is Château Chambley, and there, yes, there, is Château Trouville—my home.”
Henri was drawing the distance close with the powerful field glass, and talking over his shoulder to Billy.
“With a wall of steel around them,” commented Billy.
“But we are going to get through it,” was Henri’s determined reply.
“Speed the day!”
Billy was ready for the effort. Besides, he had been thinking a good deal about Bangor in the last few days.
“If those old guns over there,” said Henri, “would only let us alone until we found the mouth of that tunnel it’s a sure thing that we could be under the roof of the Trouvilles in less than two hours.”
“Maybe the old map’s no good.”
Billy never had been much of a hand for ancient history.
“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll give it a test to-morrow night.”