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Page 42
"Good Heavens! You don't mean to say she was there under the awful fire
of our guns?"
"No, else I should not have been with you. Weber, the trusty Alsatian,
of whom you know, came to us in the town. It was he who had borne the
letter from Philip to Mademoiselle Julie. We thought we saw Germans in
the outskirts of Chastel. We did not find any, but when we came back to
the H�tel de l'Europe, where we left them, Mademoiselle Julie and her
servants, the Picards, were gone."
"Perhaps they were alarmed by the German advance and have taken refuge
somewhere in the woods. If so, it will be easy to find them, Scott."
"No, they're not there. They're in the hands of the enemy. I shouldn't
mind it so much if she were merely a captive of the Germans, but that
man Auersperg has taken her again."
"How can you possibly know that to be true, Scott?"
Then John told the story of the register, and of the successive writing
of the names. Cotton heard him, too, and his face was very grave.
"It's a pity Bougainville couldn't have come earlier," he said. "We
might not only have saved Mademoiselle Julie but have captured this
Prince of Auersperg as well. Then we should indeed have had a prize. But
the wireless could not talk through all the storm and we had no warning
of the German movement until the snowfall died down."
"What are we going to do?" asked John.
"We'll stay on the site of Chastel at least until morning, which can't
be far away."
John looked at his watch.
"It will be daylight in two hours," he said.
"Oh, by the way," exclaimed Carstairs, "what became of Weber?"
"We were making our escape in Mademoiselle Lannes' automobile when we
ran into a detachment of Germans. Our car was riddled; we both dodged
for shelter and that was the last I saw of him."
"He escaped. I wager a pound to a shilling on it. The Alsatian not only
has borrowed the nine lives of a cat, but he has nine original ones of
his own."
"I feel sure, like you, Carstairs, that he has escaped and I certainly
hope so. He's a clever man who has the faculty of turning up at the
right time."
"It promises to be a clear dawn," said Wharton. "You may not believe it,
Carstairs, but I'm a fine weather prophet in my own country, and if I
can do so well there I ought at least to do as well with the low-grade
weather supplied by an inferior continent like Europe."
"It's no wonder they call you a mad Yankee, Wharton. Low-grade weather!
Have you any fog that can equal our London variety?"
"It's quality, not quantity that counts with a superior, intellectual
people such as we are."
"Intellect! It's luck! I don't remember his name, but he was a
discerning Frenchman, who said that a special Providence watched over
drunken men and Americans."
"A special Providence watches over only those who have superior merit."
"I think," said John, "that I'm bound to take a little rest, if Captain
Colton will let me."
"Oh, he'll let you if you ask him," said Carstairs. "You're a particular
favorite of his, although I can't understand why. Wharton and I are much
more deserving. But you do look all played out, old fellow."
John had sustained a sudden collapse. Intense emotion and immense
physical exertion, continued so long, could be endured no longer, and he
felt as if he would fall in the snow. But a portion of the victorious
force was to remain at Chastel, and some tents had been pitched. Captain
Colton readily gave John permission to enter one of them and roll
himself in the blankets.
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