led
to him. He would not reason with himself, and ask how or why it had been
done, but he felt it. He liked to believe that wireless signals had
passed between them. Anyway he was going to believe it, and hence his
heart was light and his spirit strong.

He passed sentinels posted along the road, but his passport was always
sufficient, and his pleasant manner bred a pleasant manner in return.
Soon there was nothing but a line of smoke to mark where the Gratz farm
stood, but he carried with him good memories of it. He hoped that the
romance of Jacques and Annette would end happily. In truth he was quite
sure that it would, and he began to whistle softly to himself, a trick
that he had caught from General Vaugirard.

John had no certainty that he would enter Metz, which must now be less
of a city than a great fortress with a powerful garrison. But he felt
sure that he could at least penetrate to the outskirts and there find
more trace of Auersperg. A prince and man of his social importance could
scarcely pass through the city without being noticed, and there would be
gossip among the soldiers. Fortunately he had been in Metz twice and he
knew the romantic old city at the confluence of the Moselle and the
Seille, dominated by its magnificent Gothic cathedral. After all he
might overtake Auersperg there and in some manner achieve his task.
Chance took a wide range in so great a war and nothing was impossible.

He was now approaching the line between France and Germany, and Metz lay
only eleven miles beyond. The beauty of the clear cold day endured.
There was snow on the hills, but the brilliant sun touched it with a
luminous golden haze, and the crisp air was the breath of life.

He swung along at a great gait for one who walked. Life for months
without a roof had been hard, but it had toughened wonderfully those
whom it did not kill, and John with a magnificent constitution was one
of those who had profited most. He felt no weariness now although he had
come many miles.

About one o'clock in the afternoon he sat on a stone by the roadside and
ate with the appetite of vigorous youth good food from his knapsack.
While he was there a German sergeant, with about twenty men in wagons
going toward Metz, stopped and spoke to him.

"Hey, you on the stone, what are you doing?" asked the sergeant.

John cut off a fresh piece of sausage with his clasp knife and answered
briefly and truthfully:

"Eating."

The sergeant had