Thus, had any one else been present, he would have witnessed a most singular spectacle—two people each directing a stream of light upon the other, each grimly silent, each with a most eager look upon his face.
And breaking the tense, strained silence there came a simultaneous cry of surprise—of amazement—from both.
"You—you!" stammered Chase.
Yes, he had seen that man before. He was the poilu whom they had encountered at the Hotel Cheval Noir. But his attitude, his expression and his manner were in such striking contrast to that of the suave, polished and distinguished-looking Frenchman that it scarcely seemed possible that he could be the same.
"So it is you, eh?" exclaimed the French soldier, in a voice choked with anger. "What do you mean? By what right, I ask, are you invading the Château de Morancourt at this early hour?"
And, advancing, he shook his finger threateningly in the other's face.
Though astounded—nonplussed—Chase Manning stood his ground.
"And may I ask by what right you are here?" he demanded. "What do you mean by invading the château at this early morning hour?"
"And that, I may say, concerns me alone. But I demand an answer to my question. A person does not enter a place like this without some definite object. Explain—or I may be compelled to place the matter before the proper authorities!"
Chase Manning's command of French was rather limited, but he found no difficulty in speaking the foreign tongue sufficiently well.