"I have a guest," he said; "you need not fear him. Come!"

In a dozen steps they entered the low doorway, Brocard leading,
Lorraine leaning heavily on Jack's shoulder.

"Pst! There is a thick-headed Englishman in the next room; let
him sleep in peace," murmured Brocard.

He threw a blanket over the bed, shoved the logs in the fireplace
with his hobnailed boots until the sparks whirled upward, and the
little flames began to rustle and snap.

Lorraine sank down on the bed, covering her head with her arms;
Jack dropped into a chair by the fire, looking miserably from
Lorraine to Brocard.

The latter clasped his big rough hands between his knees and
leaned forward, chewing a stem of a dead leaf, his bright eyes
fixed on the reviving fire.

"Morteyn! Morteyn!" he repeated; "it exists no longer. There are
many dead there--dead in the garden, in the court, on the
lawn--dead floating in the pond, the river--dead rotting in the
thickets, the groves, the forest. I saw them--I, Brocard the
poacher."

After a moment he resumed:

"There were more poachers than Jean Brocard in Morteyn. I saw the
Prussian officers stand in the carrefours and shoot the deer as
they ran in, a line of soldiers beating the woods behind them. I
saw the Saxons laugh as they shot at the pheasants and partridges;
I saw them firing their revolvers at rabbits and hares. They brought
to their camp-fires a great camp-wagon piled high with game--boars,
deer, pheasants, and hares. For that I hated them. Perhaps I touched
one or two of them while I was firing at white blackbirds--I really
cannot tell."

He turned an amused yellow eye on Jack, but his face sobered the
next moment, and he continued: "I heard the fusillade on the
Saint-Lys highway; I did not go to inquire if they were amusing
themselves. Ma foi! I myself keep away from Uhlans when God
permits. And so these Uhlan wolves got old Tricasse at last. Zut!
C'est embetant! And poor old Passerat, too--and Brun, and all the
rest! Tonnerre de Dieu! I--but, no--no! I am doing very well--I,
Jean Brocard, poacher; I am doing quite well, in my little way."

An ugly curling of his lip, a glimpse of two white teeth--that
was all Jack saw; but he understood that the poacher had probably
already sent more than one Prussian to his account.

"That's all very well," he said, slowly--he had little sympathy
with guerilla assassination--"but I'd rather hear how you are
going to get us out of the country and thr