“Well, isn’t that simply falling off a rock into a whirlpool? The Germans must pass that way to France, and it is France they are aiming at, not Belgium.”
“They talk mostly about England,” said Joos sapiently.
“Yes, because they fear her. But let us avoid politics, my friend. Our present problem is how and where to bestow these women for the night. After that, the sooner we three men leave them the better. I, at least, must go. I may be detected any minute, and then—God help you others!”
“Saperlotte! That isn’t the way you English are treating us. No, monsieur, we sink or swim together.”
That ready disavowal of any clash of interests was cheering. The little man’s heart was sound, though his temper might be short. Good faith, however, was not such a prime essential now as good judgment, and Dalroy halted again at a corner of the square. To stay in Argenteau was madness. But—there were three roads. One led to Visé, one to Liège, and one to the German frontier! The first two were closed hopelessly. The third, open in a sense, was fantastic when regarded as a possible avenue of escape. Yet that third road offered the only path toward comparative security and rest.
“I wish you wouldn’t look so dejected,” whispered Irene, peeping up into Dalroy’s downcast face with the winsome smile which had so taken his fancy during the long journey from Berlin. “I’ve been counting our gains and losses. Surely the balance is heavy on our side. We—you, that is—have defeated the whole German army. We’ve lost some sleep and some clothes, but have secured a safe-conduct from our enemies, after knocking a good many of them on the head. Some men, I know, look miserable when most successful; but I don’t put you in that category.”
She was careful to talk German, not that there was much chance of being actually overheard, but to prevent the sibilant accents of English speech reaching suspicious ears. Britons who have no language but their own are often surprised when abroad at hearing children mimicking them by hissing. Curiously enough, such is the effect of our island tongue on foreign ears. Monosyllables like “yes,” “this,” “it’s,” and scores of others in constant use, no less than the almost invariable plural form of nouns, lead to the illusion, which Irene was aware of, and guarded against.
Yet, despite the uncouth, harsh-sounding words on her lips, and the coarse Flemish garments she wore, she was adorably English. Léontine Joos was a pretty girl; but, in true feminine parlance, “lumpy.” Some three inches less in height than her “sister,” she probably weighed a stone more. Léontine trudged when she walked, Irene moved with a grace which not even a pair of clumsy sabots could hide. Luckily they were alike in one important particular. Their faces and hands were soiled, their hair untidy, and the passage through the wood had scratched foreheads and cheeks until the skin was broken, and little patches of congealed blood disfigured them.
“I may look more dejected than I feel,” Dalroy reassured her. “I’m playing a part, remember. I’ve kept my head down and my knees bent until my joints ache.”