rds, something utterly
unreliable--she poured her forces out beyond those forts, dug her
trenches on the eastern and northern slopes of the heights of the
Meuse, and surrounded Verdun and its encircling forts with a network of
trenches, covered by an artillery force, supplemented by guns which
were at once removed from the forts. Indeed, she no longer relied upon
Verdun as a fortress; it was merely one point in that long four hundred
miles of trenches stretching across the country, no more vulnerable
than any other point, and, one may add, no more impregnable. And down
below those trenches, under cover of the woods, for weeks past, while
Henri and his friends were languishing in Ruhleben, the Germans had
been concentrating a mighty army, had been concentrating guns,
equipment, and every other detail necessary for a gigantic attack, for
the surprise offensive which they had planned to level at General
Joffre and his forces.

"Louvain, and what next?" asked Henri aloud, as the three stepped
gingerly along the pavements of the ruined city. "What next? How to
get out of Belgium into France?"

"Or into England?" added Stuart.

"Or into Holland? That's where numbers of people manage to go when
escaping the Germans," said Jules thoughtfully. "I've heard it said
that there are Belgian patriots still in the cities of Belgium who make
it their business to assist refugees. But that's where the difficulty
comes in; how are we to meet such persons?"

There came a startled exclamation just at that moment, as the speaker
cannoned into someone in the darkness--a small, broad figure of a man,
who, rebounding from Jules, would have fallen but for the hand which
that young fellow stretched out instantly. And perhaps it was just as
natural that he should have apologized at once, and in the confusion of
the moment in the French language.

"Pardon, monsieur," he said, whereat Henri's jaw dropped suddenly,
while Stuart growled.

"And pardon me, monsieur," came the ready answer; "it was my fault.
But--but--surely--surely, not German. You are--you----"

"One moment," said Henri, his wits hard at work; "who are you,
monsieur?"

"I?--I? A Belgian patriot, monsieur; and you, though the darkness
hides you, you are a Frenchman of Paris."

It was useless to dissemble longer, and, after all, there seemed little
doubt but that the short, squat individual before them was certainly no
German. Taking his courage, therefore, in both