"The smoke from the guns. They are fighting beyond Saarbrück—yes, beyond Pfalzburg and Wörth; they are fighting beyond the Lauter."
"Wissembourg?"
"I think so. They are nearer now. Monsieur de Nesville, the battle has gone against the French."
"How do you know?" demanded the marquis, harshly.
"I have seen battles. One need only listen and look at the army yonder. They will pass Morteyn; I think they will pass for miles through the country. It looks to me like a retreat towards Metz, but I am not sure. The throngs of troops below are fugitives, not the regular geometrical figures that you see to the north. Those are regiments and divisions moving towards the west in good order."
The two men stepped back into the room and faced each other.
"After the rain the flood, after the rout the invasion," said Jack, firmly. "You cannot know it too quickly. You know it now, and you can make your plans."
He was thinking of Lorraine's safety when he spoke, but the marquis turned instinctively to a mass of machinery and chemical paraphernalia behind him.
"You will have your hands full," said Jack, repressing an angry sneer; "if you wish, my aunt De Morteyn will charge herself with Mademoiselle de Nesville's safety."
"True, Lorraine might go to Morteyn," murmured the marquis, absently, examining a smoky retort half filled with a silvery heap of dust.