I
am not free; nor the day after. _Parbleu!_ I cannot tell monsieur _when_
I shall be free."

"I understand, Pierre," said I.

* * * * *

Before sundown the next afternoon I was after a hare through a maze of
thicket running back of the dunes fronting the open sea. I kept on
through a labyrinth of narrow trails--crossing and recrossing each
other--the private by-ways of sleek old hares in time of trouble, for
the dunes were honeycombed with their burrows. Now and then I came
across a tent-shaped thatched hut lined with a bed of straw, serving as
snug shelters for the coast patrol in tough weather.

I had just turned into a tangle of scrub-brush, and could hear the
breakers pound and hiss as they swept up upon the hard smooth beach
beyond the dunes, when a low whistle brought me to a leisurely halt, and
I saw Pierre spring up from a thicket a rod ahead of me--a Government
carbine nestled in the hollow of his arm.

I could scarcely believe it was the genial and ever-willing Pierre of my
garden. He was the hard-disciplined soldier now, under orders. I was
thankful he had not sent a bullet through me for not halting more
promptly than I did.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, coming briskly toward me along a
trail no wider than his feet.

Instantly my free hand went to my hunting-cap in salute.

"After--a--hare!" I stammered innocently.

"Not so loud," he whispered. "_Mon Dieu!_ If the brigadier should hear
you! Come with me," he commanded, laying his hand firmly upon my arm.
"There are six of us hidden between here and the fortress. It is well
that you stumbled upon me first. They must know who you are. It is not
safe for you to be hunting to-day."

I had not followed him more than a dozen rods before one of his
companions was at my side. "The American," said Pierre in explanation,
and we passed on down through a riot of stunted growth that choked the
sides of a hollow.

Beyond this rose the top of a low circular fort overgrown with
wire-grass--the riot of tangle ceasing as we reached the bottom of the
hollow and stood in an open patch before an ancient iron gate piercing
the rear of the fort.

Pierre lifted the latch and we passed through a wall some sixteen feet
thick and into a stone-paved courtyard with a broad flight of steps at
its farther end sweeping to the top of the circular defence. Flanking
the sunken courtyard itself were a dozen low vaultlike compartments,