"True, true! But the Prussians are sure of victory, and one's heart aches when one sees them sweep over the land like a pestilence. I haven't told you one-tenth----" "Why frighten these ladies needlessly? The gun-fire is bad enough. You and I are men, Monsieur Joos. We must try and save our women." The miller was spirited, and the implied taunt struck home. "It's all very well talking in that way," he cried; "but what's going to happen to you if a German sees you? _Que diable!_ You look like an Aachen carriage-cleaner, don't you, with your officer air and commanding voice, and your dandy boots, and your fine clothes showing when the workman's smock opens! The lady, too, in a cheap shawl, wearing a blouse and skirt that cost hundreds of francs!--Léontine, take monsieur----" "Dalroy." "Take Monsieur Dalroy to Jan Maertz's room, and let him put on Jan's oldest clothes and a pair of sabots. Jan's clogs will just about fit him. And give mademoiselle one of your old dresses." He whirled round on Dalroy. "What became of Jan Maertz? Did the Germans really kill him? Tell us the truth. Léontine, there, had better know." "I think he is safe," said Dalroy. "I have already explained to your daughter how the accident came about which separated us. Maertz was pulled out of the driver's seat by the reins when the horses plunged and upset the wagon. He may arrive any hour." "The Germans didn't know, then, that you and the lady were in the cart?" "No." "I hope Jan hasn't told them. That would be awkward. But what matter? You talk like a true man, and I'll do my best for you. It's nothing but nonsense to think of getting away from Visé yet. You're a Liègeois whom I hired to do Jan's work while he went to Aix. Everybody in Visé knows he went there four days ago. I can't lift heavy sacks of grain at my age, and I must have a man's help. You see? Sharp, now. When that fat fellow gets his puff again he'll be here for more supplies. And mind you don't wash your face and hands. You're far too much of a gentleman as it is." "One moment," interrupted Irene. "I want your promise, Captain Dalroy, that you will not go away without telling me." She could not guess how completely old Joos's broken story of the day's events in Visé had changed Dalroy's intent. "I would as soon think of cutting off my right hand," he said. Their eyes met and clashed. It was dark in the mill's kitchen, even at midday; but the girl felt that the tan of travel and exposure on her face was yielding to a deep crimson. "Come, Léontine," she cried almost gaily, "show me how to wear one of your frocks. I'll do as much for you some day in London." "You be off, too," growled Joos to Dalroy. "When the Germans come they must see you about the place." The old man was shrewd in his way. The sooner these strangers became members of the household the less likely were they to attract attention.