"That's the spot I marked out for you. See that you recognise it. Over there round Raon-sur-Plaine, the Germans have kept all the forests for themselves; the barren lands they have left to France. On the opposite side, facing us, there is an extensive strip of meadow land which is French territory. I even saw a deserted farmhouse, abandoned before the war, I suppose. I'll go first." "Excuse me, I'll go first." "No; I assure you, my boy, that the danger is equally great behind. I must be guide. I go first; we'll avoid the pathways, and I will lead you carefully to a point where you have only one thing to do: go straight ahead and cross a road, then a few yards of underwood, and beyond is French soil." M. Ulrich embraced Jean silently and quickly; he did not wish to lose control of himself, when all depended on calmness. "Come," he said. They commenced the descent under cover of the tall fir-trees which commenced just there. The slope was strewn with obstacles, against which Jean or his uncle frequently stumbled, moss-covered stones, fallen and rotten trunks, broken branches, like claws stretched out in the darkness to bar the way. Every moment M. Ulrich stopped to listen and would frequently look round, to make sure that Jean's tall form was close behind him--it was too dark to see his face. "They'll be checkmated, uncle," whispered Jean. "Not too fast, my Jean; we are not yet safe." Still under cover, the fugitives reached the meadows of the Minières, and began to ascend the mountain opposite, but without quitting cover. When M. Ulrich reached the summit he stopped and sniffed the wind, which blew more freely through the young trees. "Do you smell the air of France?" he murmured, in spite of the danger of talking. A plain stretched in front of them, but was invisible; they could distinguish the trees, which seemed like stationary smoke below, and above were the scurrying clouds. M. Ulrich cautiously began the descent, listening eagerly. An owl flew by. They had to make their way a short distance through a prickly undergrowth which clung to their clothes. Suddenly a voice in the forest called: "Halt!" M. Ulrich stooped, his hand on Jean's shoulder. "Don't move," he whispered quickly. "I'll call them off, by turning towards the Minières. As soon as they follow me, get up, run off, cross the road and then the little coppice--it's a straight line in front of you. Adieu." He rose up, took a few steps cautiously, and then made off quickly through the woods. "_Halt! Halt!_" A report rang out, and as the noise died away under the branches M. Ulrich's voice, already some distance off, called: "Missed."