"That," said a private soldier, an accent of pride in his voice, "is our Albert."
"The king?"
"Yes, monsieur; he is the tall one. The other is General Mays. I'm sure we have driven the Germans back, and that is lucky, for before our charge they had come too close for comfort."
"The king gave me a ring," said Beth, displaying it. "He seemed glad I was here to help his soldiers, but warned me to keep further away from the line. King Albert speaks English perfectly and told me he loves America better than any other country except his own."
"He has traveled in your country," explained the soldier. "But then, our Albert has traveled everywhere—before he was king."
Betwixt them Maud and Beth quickly applied first aid to the others in the group and then Uncle John said:
"Let us take the king's advice and get back to the ambulance. We left only Patsy and Dr. Gys there and I'm sure you girls will be needed."
On their return they came upon a man sitting in a hollow and calmly leaning against a bank of sand, smoking a cigarette. He wore a gray uniform.
"Ah, a German!" exclaimed Maud. She ran up to him and asked: "Are you hurt?"
He glanced at her uniform, nodded, and pointed to his left foot. It had nearly all been torn away below the ankle. A handkerchief was twisted about the leg, forming a rude tourniquet just above the wound, and this had served to stay the flow of blood.