Guild walked toward the sound of the voice: "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Moi, je suis de Moresnet!"
"Then you'd better go back to the zinc mines of Moresnet, my friend. No Uhlans will trouble you down there."
And, aside to Michaud: "Look out for that young man from Moresnet. He's too hotly a Belgian to suit my taste."
"Monsieur, he is a talker," said Michael with a shrug.
"My friend, be careful that he is nothing more dangerous."
"Ah, sacré bleu!" exclaimed the forester, reddening to his white temples—"if any of that species had the temerity to come among us!——"
"Michaud, they might even be among the King's own entourage.... No doubt that fellow is merely, as you say, a talker. But—he should not be left to wander about the woods alone. And, tell me, is there anybody else you know of who might do something rash tonight along the boundary?"
"Monsieur—there are two or three poor devils who escaped the firing squads at Yslemont. They live in our forest, hiding. Our people feed them."
Guild said in a troubled voice: "Such charity is an obligation. But nevertheless it is a peril and a menace to us all."