"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."
"Were this estate my own," said the sturdy forester, "I would shelter them as long as they desired to remain. But I am responsible to Monsieur Paillard, and to his tenant, Madame Courland. Therefore I have asked these poor refugees to continue on to Diekirch or to Luxembourg where the sight of an Uhlan's schapska will be no temptation to them."
"You are right, Michaud." He held out his hand; the forester grasped it. "Tomorrow we should talk further. Our duty is to join the colours, not to prowl through the woods assassinating Uhlans. Good night! In the morning then?"
"And both of us at the service of the bravest man in Europe--Albert, the King!"
Off came their hats. And, as they stood there in silence under the stars, from far away across the misty sea of trees came the sound of a gun-shot.
"I don't know, Monsieur. Big boar feed late. A poacher perhaps. Perhaps a garde-de-chasse at Trois Fontaines."
They continued to listen for a while, but no other sound broke the starry silence. And finally Guild turned away with a slight gesture, and walked slowly back to the Lodge.
Lights from the tall windows made brilliant patches and patterns across terrace and grass and flowers; the front door was open and the pleasant ruddy lamp-light streamed out.
Valentine passing and mounting the stairs caught sight of him and waved her hand in friendly salute.
"We're sterilizing Harry's shins--mother and I. The foolish boy was rather badly tusked."
"Perfectly, and bored to death by our fussing."
She ran on up the stairs, paused again: "We're not dressing for dinner," she called down to him, and vanished.
Guild said, "All right!" glanced at the hall clock, and sauntered on into the big living-room so unmistakably American in its brightness and comfort.