“As likely it is a flour-mill, and those lights we see are from its windows,” remarked Devereux.
“We shall soon settle the point, for we shall be up to the place directly,” said Paul. “The lights are lower than I at first thought, and appear to be in the windows of several houses. Hark! I hear the tramp of horses coming along the road.”
“Qui va là?” shouted a voice, in sharp, stern accents. “Stand and declare yourselves!”
“We are in for it,” whispered O’Grady. “What can the fellows be?”
“French dragoons, I am afraid,” answered Paul, “There is no use attempting to deceive them. They ask who we are.”
“Gerrard, you speak French better than I do; tell them,” said Devereux.
“Naval officers who have lost their ship, and are seeking for shelter this bitter cold night,” shouted Paul.
“Come then with us,” exclaimed the sergeant in command of the patrol, riding up. “Your story, friends, may or may not be true. If you are spies, the consequences may be unpleasant.”
Escorted by the horsemen, they were conducted to the building they had seen. It appeared to be a large country house. All the outhouses and lower rooms were converted into stables, little trouble having been taken to remove rich Brussels carpets or valuable furniture. They were led upstairs to a large room, where several officers were seated at supper, and were announced as prisoners just captured on the road, reporting themselves as naval officers.
“A likely story,” observed the commanding officer—a general apparently by his uniform. “What have you to say for yourselves?”