"You must come inside ze house," whispered Florette fearfully. "It is
not safe to talk here."

"There isn't any one following us," said Tom's companion reassuringly.
"If we can just get some old clothes and some grub we'll be all right."

"Zere is much danger," said the girl, unconvinced. "We are always
watched. But you are friends to Armand. We must help you."

She led the way into the house and into a simply furnished room lighted
by a single lamp and as she cautiously shut the heavy wooden blinds and
lowered the light, the two fugitives looked eagerly at the first signs
of home life which they had seen in many a long day.

It was in vain that the two Americans declined the wine which old Pierre
insisted upon their drinking.

"You will drink zhust a leetle--yess?" said the girl prettily. "It is
make in our own veenyard."

So the boys sipped a little of the wine and found it grateful to their
weary bodies and overwrought nerves.

"Now you can tell us--of Armand," she said eagerly.

Often during Tom's simple story she stole to the window and, opening the
blind slightly, looked fearfully along the dark, quiet road. The very
atmosphere of the room seemed charged with nervous apprehension and
every sound of the breeze without startled the tense nerves of the
little party.

Old Pierre and his wife, though quite unable to understand, listened
keenly to every word uttered by the strangers, interrupting their
daughter continually to make her translate this or that sentence.

"There ain't so much need to worry," said Tom, with a kind of dogged
self-confidence that relieved Florette not a little. "I wouldn't of
headed for here if I hadn't known I could do it without leaving any
trace, 'cause I wouldn't want to get you into trouble."

Florette looked intently at the square, dull face before her with its
big mouth and its suggestion of a frown. His shock of hair, always
rebellious, was now in utter disorder. He was barefoot and his clothes
were in that condition which only the neglect and squalor of a German
prison camp can produce. But in his gaunt face there shone a look of
determination and a something which seemed to encourage the girl to
believe in him.

"Are zey all like you--ze Americans?" she asked.

"Some of 'em are taller than me," he answered literally, "but I got a
good chest expansion. This feller's name is Archer. He belongs on a farm
in New York."

She glanced at Archer and saw a round, red, merry