Two days later, it was Bernard's turn. Luck protected him, too. A bullet went through his knapsack and grazed his shoulder-blade.
And, four days after that, Paul had his cap shot through: and, this time again, the bullet came from the French lines.
There was no doubt about it therefore. The two brothers-in-law had evidently been aimed at; and the traitor, a criminal in the enemy's pay, was concealed in the French ranks.
"It's as sure as eggs," said Bernard. "You first, then I, then you again. There's a touch of Hermann about this. The major must be at Dixmude."
"And perhaps the prince, too," observed Paul.
"Very likely. In any case, one of their agents has slipped in amongst us. How are we to get at him? Tell the colonel?"
"If you like, Bernard, but don't speak of ourselves and of our private quarrel with the major. I did think for a moment of going to the colonel about it, but decided not to, as I did not want to drag in Élisabeth's name."
There was no occasion, however, for them to warn their superiors. Though the attempts on the lives of Paul and Bernard were not repeated, there were fresh instances of treachery every day. French batteries were located and attacked; their movements were forestalled; and everything proved that a spying system had been organized on a much more methodical and active scale than anywhere else. They felt certain of the presence of Major Hermann, who was evidently one of the chief pivots of the system.
"He is here," said Bernard, pointing to the German lines. "He is here because the great game is being played in those marshes and because there is work for him to do. And also he is here because we are."
"How would he know?" Paul objected.