"Just at present they are, but in a few days we shall outnumber them; victory has made them over-bold; they are venturing too far northwest, and they imagine that they have to do only with some scattering bands of franctireurs. I have learned enough for to-day, but you must contrive to keep me informed of all that is going on here. For a messenger you must employ the village maire, Fournier; his boy Louis was shot a few days ago by some of these very Germans, and the man is thirsting for revenge; he will do all and venture all to bring destruction upon these men." "But they have placed their sentinels so that it will be impossible to elude them, and, besides, how could anything of importance reach my ears?" "Leave the eluding of the sentinels to Fournier, and for important information we must depend upon Gervais; let him listen well. These officers can have no idea that he understands German perfectly?" "Not the least; the colonel always speaks to him in execrable French." "Then let him be constantly on the watch for news, and let me hear it instantly through the maire. May I rely upon you?" "You are playing a dangerous game, Count! We shall be discovered; and if we are, we are lost, for Count Schlichting knows no mercy." "Then none shall be shown him." "He will need none. I implore you, Count, to moderate your zeal; you will only plunge into ruin if you attempt to attack an enemy that so outnumbers you. We, the maire and I, shall both be shot if we are suspected of holding any communication with you." The Count gazed sternly at Sorr. For a moment he seemed to bethink himself; then he said, laying a sharp stress upon each word, "I am almost tempted to believe you capable of playing the traitor, Herr von Sorr. I would not advise you to contemplate such a course; one step in that direction and Count Schlichting shall learn by a letter from me whom your clumsy disguise conceals. Remember you are closely watched. If you are true to me you shall have your reward; but if you are a traitor, by Heaven! you shall meet a traitor's death. If you should escape a German bullet, a French one shall find its way to your heart. Now you know where you stand. One more piece of advice: for God's sake avoid that cursed brandy-flask for the next week at least. Come, be a man, Sorr; promise me that you will not drink a drop for the next eight days." Sorr promised, and Repuin took his departure, leaving, as he had come, by the window. Sorr closed it softly behind him and stood at it for a long while, dreading to hear a shot in the shrubbery, but all remained quiet. CHAPTER XXIII.