Von Emmich's troubles were no concern of Dalroy's, save in their reaction on his own difficulties. He was conscious of a certain surprise that Irene Beresford should recognise one of the leaders of modern Germany so promptly; but this feeling, in its turn, yielded to the vital things of the moment. "Let us be moving," he said quietly, and led the way with Joos.
"Why did you give Andenne as your destination?" he inquired.
"My wife's cousin lives there, monsieur. She is married to a man named Alphonse Stauwaert. I _had_ to say something. I remembered Madame Stauwaert in the nick of time."
"But Andenne lies beyond Liège. To get there we shall have to traverse the whole German line, and pass some of the outlying forts, which is impossible."
"True. But why not make for a place that is attainable? Heaven--or Purgatory, at any rate--is far more easily reached to-night than Andenne."
"I didn't say we were going there at once," snapped the miller. "It's more than twenty-five kilomètres from here, and is far enough away to be safe when I'm asked where I am bound for. My wife couldn't walk it to-morrow, let alone to-night."
"Andenne lies down the valley of the Meuse too, doesn't it?"
"Well, isn't that simply falling off a rock into a whirlpool? The Germans must pass that way to France, and it is France they are aiming at, not Belgium."
"They talk mostly about England," said Joos sapiently.
"Yes, because they fear her. But let us avoid politics, my friend. Our present problem is how and where to bestow these women for the night. After that, the sooner we three men leave them the better. I, at least, must go. I may be detected any minute, and then--God help you others!"
"_Saperlotte!_ That isn't the way you English are treating us. No, monsieur, we sink or swim together."
That ready disavowal of any clash of interests was cheering. The little man's heart was sound, though his temper might be short. Good faith, however, was not such a prime essential now as good judgment, and Dalroy halted again at a corner of the square. To stay in Argenteau was madness. But--there were three roads. One led to Visé, one to Liège, and one to the German frontier! The first two were closed hopelessly. The third, open in a sense, was fantastic when regarded as a possible avenue of escape. Yet that third road offered the only path toward comparative security and rest.