Wienersdorf and Schlickeisen held their breath and everything remained quiet for a while. Suddenly their mysterious visitor bent over them and whispered almost inaudibly: “Come to the hut of Johannes to-morrow morning after breakfast.” The figure vanished under the beds and was soon lost in the darkness. The two Swiss kept quiet for a long time. When they perceived that the corporal had dropped off to sleep, Wienersdorf whispered to his companion the enquiry: “Who was that?” “Perhaps Johannes himself.” “He had a brown skin and the upper part of his body was naked.” “Can we trust him?” “Who knows? We may as well look in to-morrow morning and hear what he has to say.” “Hush! be careful; that Dunkelhof is a regular spy.” They both crept between their blankets and were soon in a sound slumber. Next morning, after they had fetched their soup from the kitchen, they had to pass the hut of Johannes. They found him standing outside his door. Without uttering a word he moved away from the entrance as if inviting them to come in. They entered, put their pannikins on the floor and seated themselves on a bench. On a table before them lay already spread a choice repast prepared by Johannes. In addition to the ration of soup from the barrack kitchen, there was boiled rice, snow white and well granulated, dishes of sauces made of fish and vegetables, surrounded by some smaller dishes of pepper fried in oil and pounded with shrimp. There were also plates of dried venison and cod’s roe together with roasted meat. A duck, swimming in a palatable sauce, completed the cheer. “You are a Lucullus,” began Schlickeisen. “What kind of animal is that?” demanded Johannes. “No animal at all, but a Roman gourmand, who, however, could not compare with you.” “Laugh at me if you please, but sit down and eat. We can talk afterwards. I always find that I can reason better when I have satisfied the cravings of my stomach.” The Swiss did not wait for a second invitation but fell to and enjoyed themselves to their hearts’ content. Not a word was spoken during the repast. There was nothing heard but the smacking of lips and the clatter of knives and forks. When the last bone had been picked and the feasters had wiped their greasy fingers, Johannes produced a box of tobacco. All three having filled their pipes, he began: “Now out with your business; you mean to bolt, don’t you?” Schlickeisen and Wienersdorf looked at each other interrogatively. “We are quite safe here,” continued Johannes. “Nobody can hear us. Come, out with it. You want to be off. Where to? Perhaps I can assist you.” The two Swiss exchanged a look of intelligence. After a while Wienersdorf said: “Well, yes; we did talk of a plan to desert, but there is a wide distance between talking and doing.” “I should think so. But tell me your plan.” “Oh, you can scarcely call it a plan yet. We have not been here long enough to know the country and without that knowledge no attempt is possible.”