CHAPTER III
FATHER AND SON
Bare-headed, tangle-haired, his clothes torn, no collar, blood on his shirt, on his hands, on his face, blood everywhere, a wound in his neck, another on his lip, unrecognizable, horrible to look at, but magnificent in energy, heroic and triumphant: such was the appearance presented by old Morestal.
He chortled:
"Here!" he shouted.
An enormous laugh rolled from under his moustache:
"Morestal? Here!... Morestal, for the second time, a prisoner of the Teuton ... and, for the second time, free!"
Philippe stared at him in dismay, as though at an apparition.