"Nuzzing you write down," the old man said sharply, clutching Tom's arm. "In your brain where you are so clevaire—zere you write it. So! You are not so clevaire as Melotte. Now I will show you how you shall find Mam'selle," he went on with a sly wink.
Emptying some wool out of a paper bag, he pressed the wrinkles from the bag with his trembling old hand and bending over the rough table close to the lantern, he drew a map somewhat similar to, though less complete than, the one given here.
SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BY TOM AND ARCHER.
There is nothing like a map to show one "where he is at," to quote Archer's phrase, and the boys followed with great interest as Melotte penciled the course of the Rhine and the places which he wished to emphasize in the southern part of Alsace.
"Here at Norne lives my comrade, Blondel," he said. "Two years we work togezzer at Passake—you know? In ze great silk mills."
"Passaic," said Tom; "that's near Bridgeboro, where I live."
"Passake, yess. So now you are so clevaire to know who shall leeve in a house, I will tell you how you shall know ze house of my comrade, Blondel. By ze blue flag with one black spot! Yess? You know what ziss shall be? Billet!" He gave Archer a dig in the ribs as if this represented the high water mark of sagacity.
"Oh, I know," said Archer; "it means Gerrman officerrs are billeted therre. Go-o-od night! Not for us!"