"Halt!" cried a man, showing himself suddenly, and coming out from behind the trunk of a tree. Jean went on running some steps—carried away by the impetus. Then he came back to the customs official who had called to him. Then the man, who was a brigadier, young and squat, with defective eyes, a little wild, two locks of yellow hair framing the thick-set face—the real type of a man of the Vosges, looked at the young man and said:
"Why the devil did you run? I thought you were a smuggler."
"I was trying to find a place to see a landscape in France...."
"Does that interest you? You are from the other side?"
"Yes."
"Not a Prussian all the same?"
"No; an Alsatian."
The man smiled slightly and said, "That is better!"
But Jean continued without taking up the conversation, and as if he had forgotten his question, to look at this poor officer of France, his face, his uniform, and to photograph them on his mind. The officer seemed amused at his curiosity and said, laughing:
"If it is a view you are after, you have only to follow me. I have one which the Government offers me to complete my treatment."