"Yes, Monsieur," said the honest forester, simply.
Guild laid one hand on the man's broad shoulder:
"Michaud," he said quietly, "I know I am among friends if you say I am. I mean friends to Belgium."
The dark eyes of the tall forester seemed to emit a sudden sparkle in the dusk.
"Monsieur is American?"
"Yes. My grandfather was Belgian."
"Monsieur is a friend?"
"Michaud, my name, in America is Guild. My name in Belgian is Kervyn Gueldres. Judge, then, whether I am a friend to your country and your king."
"Gueldres!" whispered the forester, rigid. "Kervyn of Gueldres, Comte d'Yvoir, Hastiere——"
"It is so written on the rolls of the Guides."