When the game was finished he led Stenne to a corner of the Place, and proposed that he should go with him and sell newspapers to the Germans--at thirty francs the trip! At first Stenne indignantly refused, and he did not go again to watch the game for three whole days--three terrible days. He no longer ate nor slept. At night he had visions of heaps of _galoches_ at the foot of his bed, and five-franc pieces rolling and shining brightly. The temptation was too strong. On the fourth day he returned to the Château d'Eau, saw the big boy again, and permitted himself to be led astray! [Illustration: "THE MEN GAVE THEM A DROP OF COFFEE."] One snowy morning they set out carrying a linen bag, and with a number of newspapers stuffed under their blouses. When they reached the Flanders Gate it was scarcely daylight. The big boy took Stenne by the hand and approaching the sentry--a brave "stay-at-home," who had a red nose, and a good-natured expression--said to him, in a whining tone: "Let us pass, good sir; our mother is ill, papa is dead. We are going--my little brother and I--to pick up some potatoes in the fields." He began to cry. Stenne, shame-faced, hung down his head. The sentry looked at the lads for a moment, and then glanced down the white, deserted road. "Get on with you, quick!" he said, turning away; and then they were in the Aubervilliers-road. The big boy laughed heartily! Confusedly, as in a dream, little Stenne saw the factories, now converted into barracks; abandoned barricades decked out with wet rags, and high chimneys, now smokeless, standing up, half in ruins, against the misty sky. At certain distances were sentries; officers, cloaked and hooded, sweeping the horizon with their field glasses; and small tents saturated by the melting snow beside the expiring watch-fires. The big boy knew the paths, and took his way across the fields so as to avoid the outposts. Presently, however, they came upon a strong guard of Franc-tireurs, and were unable to pass by unnoticed. The men were in a number of small huts concealed in a ditch full of water all along the line of the Soissons railway. Here it was no avail for the big boy to tell his story; the Franc-tireurs would not let him pass. But while he was lamenting, an old sergeant, with white hair and wrinkled face, came out from the guard-house; he was something like Father Stenne. "Come, come, you brats, don't cry any more!" he said. "You may go and fetch your potatoes; but first come in and warm yourselves a little. The youngster there looks nearly frozen!" Alas! little Stenne was not trembling from cold, but for fear, for very shame!