"Listen!" he said sharply. From that direction came a sound like thunder, yet not like thunder, for its dull peals had a booming regularity. "And there--where my finger points!" She stepped a little behind him and looked along his arm. Beyond the fingers' end, breaking out of the mantle of night, were one-two-three-four bright, sharp flashes in regular succession, followed by reports, one-two-three-four. "Listen!" There was a rumble of wheels on the main road, mingled with the shouts of men, very audible once one's mind was centred on it. "The near, sharp flashes are from the French guns! The others are the burst of shells! They are fighting there--there in sight of us!" Helen exclaimed, gripping Phil's arm. "The war has come to Mervaux! This will be terrible for mother! We must be careful how we break the news to her." "Yes, she must go," said Phil. "Wait!" He was straining his eyes at something which she could net see. Finally she made out a moving, lumpish sort of procession coming from the road. As it drew nearer she recognised it as a battery of guns, which stopped behind a clump of woods in a hollow. She heard the commands and saw the groups of horses swing round and then go to the rear. "I'll speak to them. Perhaps they can tell us what to expect," said Phil. "Shan't I go with you? My French may help." "Yes, that's so. Shall I never forget that everybody doesn't speak English and that only the English really understand my French?" Together they walked across the dewy fields till an officer of the battery flashed his electric pocket lamp in their faces, as he stepped from among his men busy emplacing the _soixante-quinze_ for action. "Monsieur! What is your business here? Who are you?" he asked. "I am an American stopping at the chateau over there and this is my cousin," Phil managed to say in his school French. "His accent is not German, you will agree, _mon capitaine_!" put in Helen. "Nor yours, but Parisian, Mademoiselle!" He was very polite, but the voice was tired. "You had better go back to the chateau and stay, lest your purpose be misunderstood. We are very sharp about such things in war time." "How is it going?" They asked the question together; the question of all France. "It is not for an artilleryman to say; but if I were you and you have the means I'd get away--not that the Germans may come here, but there may be shell-fire. If you remain and there is shelling, go into the cellar. And don't alarm the villagers. They glut the road with their carts." "You are very kind. Good luck for France!" "For France! _Au revoir, Monsieur_!" The two cousins were startled by the crashes of a salvo from the battery before they were halfway back to the chateau grounds. CHAPTER XIII A MATTER OF GALLANTRY