"If the colonel pleases—l'Hirondelle."
I heard the colonel's breath come and go as he peered, leaning forward to the soldierly figure. "Nom de Ciel," he murmured, "I believe it is." Then in sharp sentences: "You were reported killed. Are you a deserter?"
The steady image of a soldier dropped back a step.
"My colonel—no."
"Explain this."
Rafael—l'Hirondelle—explained. He had not been killed, but captured and sent to a German prison-camp.
"You escaped?" the colonel threw in.
"But yes, my colonel."
The colonel laughed. "One would know it. The clumsy Boches could not hold the Swallow."
"But no, my colonel."