e, horrible to look at, but magnificent
in energy, heroic and triumphant: such was the appearance presented by
old Morestal.

He chortled:

"Here!" he shouted.

An enormous laugh rolled from under his moustache:

"Morestal? Here!... Morestal, for the second time, a prisoner of the
Teuton ... and, for the second time, free!"

Philippe stared at him in dismay, as though at an apparition.

"Well, sonny? Is that the way you welcome me home?"

He caught hold of a napkin and wiped his face with a great, wide
gesture. Then he drew his wife to him:

"Kiss me, mother!... And you, Philippe! And you, Marthe!... And you
too, my pretty Suzanne: once for myself and once for your father!...
Don't cry, my child.... Daddy's all right.... They're coddling him like
an emperor, over there ... until they let him go. And that's not far
off. By Heaven, no! I hope the French government ..."

He was talking like a drunken man, too fast and in an unsteady voice.
His wife tried to make him sit down. He protested:

"Rest? Quite unnecessary, mother. A Morestal never rests. My wounds?
Scratches! What? The doctor? If he sets foot in this house, I'll chuck
him out of the window!"

"Still, you ought to take something...."

"Take something? A glass of wine, if you like ... a glass of good French
wine.... That's it, uncork a bottle.... We'll have a glass all round....
Your health, Weisslicht!... Oh, what a joke!... When I think of the face
of Weisslicht, the special commissary of the imperial government!... The
prisoner's gone! The bird's flown!"

He laughed loudly and, after drinking two glasses of wine, one on top of
the other, he kissed the three women once more, kissed Philippe, called
in Victor, Catherine, the gardener, shook hands with them, sent them
away again and began to walk up and down the room, saying:

"No time to be lost, children! I met the sergeant of gendarmes on the
Saint-Elophe road. The authorities have been informed.... They can be
here within half an hour. I want to present a report. Take a pen,
Philippe."

"What's much more important," protested his wife, "is that you should
not excite yourself like this. Here, tell us all about it instead, quite
calmly."

Old Morestal was never known to refuse to talk. He therefore began his
story, in short, slow sentences, as she wished, describing all the
details of attack and all the incidents of the journey to Boersweilen.
But, carried away once more, he raised his voice,