His clothes were shiny and thick with grease, stretched over a small round body, that contrasted strangely with his lean and bony face. And all this formed a jovial, grotesque and rather alarming picture. Morestal let go his hold and, in an imperative tone: "Explain yourself and quickly. I don't want my son to see you here. Speak." There was no time to be lost, as Dourlowski saw: "Well, look here," he said. "It's a question of a young soldier in the Boersweilen garrison. He's too unhappy for words where he is ... and he's mad at having to serve Germany." "A ne'er-do-well," growled Morestal. "A slacker who doesn't want to work." "No, not this one, I tell you, not this one. He means to enlist in the Foreign Legion. He loves France." "Yes, always the same story. And then--pah!--one never hears of them again. More gallows' seed!" Dourlowski seemed shocked and scandalized: "How can you say such a thing, M. Morestal?... If you only knew! A brave soldier who asks nothing better than to die fighting for our country." The old man started: "'Our country,' indeed! I forbid you to speak like that. Have you the least idea where you hail from? A scamp like you has no country." "You forget all that I have done, M. Morestal.... You and I, between us, have 'passed' four of them already." "Hold your tongue!" said Morestal, who seemed to take no pleasure in this recollection. "Hold your tongue.... If the thing had never happened ..." "It would happen just the same, because you are a good-natured man and because there are things.... There.... It's like with this lad.... It would break your heart to see him.... Johann Baufeld his name is.... His father is just dead ... and he wants to go out to his mother, who was divorced and who lives in Algeria.... Such a nice lad, full of pluck...." "Well," said Morestal, "he's only got to 'pass'! You don't want me for that." "And what about the money? He hasn't a sou. Besides, there's no one like you to tell us all the paths, the best place to cross at, the best time to select...." "I'll see about it.... I'll see about it," said Morestal. "There's no hurry...." "Yes, there is...." "Why?" "The Boersweilen regiment is manoeuvring on the slopes of the Vosges. If you'll lend us a hand, I'll run down to Saint-Elophe first, buy a suit of second-hand French peasant's clothes and go and find my man. Then I'll bring him to the old barn in your little farm to-night ... as I have done before...." "Where is he at this moment?" "His company is quartered in the Albern Woods." "But that's next door to the frontier!" cried Morestal. "An hour's walk, no more." "Just so; but how he is to reach the frontier? Where is he to cross it?"