It was in vain that the two Americans declined the wine which old Pierre insisted upon their drinking. "You will drink zhust a leetle--yess?" said the girl prettily. "It is make in our own veenyard." So the boys sipped a little of the wine and found it grateful to their weary bodies and overwrought nerves. "Now you can tell us--of Armand," she said eagerly. Often during Tom's simple story she stole to the window and, opening the blind slightly, looked fearfully along the dark, quiet road. The very atmosphere of the room seemed charged with nervous apprehension and every sound of the breeze without startled the tense nerves of the little party. Old Pierre and his wife, though quite unable to understand, listened keenly to every word uttered by the strangers, interrupting their daughter continually to make her translate this or that sentence. "There ain't so much need to worry," said Tom, with a kind of dogged self-confidence that relieved Florette not a little. "I wouldn't of headed for here if I hadn't known I could do it without leaving any trace, 'cause I wouldn't want to get you into trouble." Florette looked intently at the square, dull face before her with its big mouth and its suggestion of a frown. His shock of hair, always rebellious, was now in utter disorder. He was barefoot and his clothes were in that condition which only the neglect and squalor of a German prison camp can produce. But in his gaunt face there shone a look of determination and a something which seemed to encourage the girl to believe in him. "Are zey all like you--ze Americans?" she asked. "Some of 'em are taller than me," he answered literally, "but I got a good chest expansion. This feller's name is Archer. He belongs on a farm in New York." She glanced at Archer and saw a round, red, merry face, still wearing that happy-go-lucky look which there is no mistaking. His skin was camouflaged by a generous coat of tan and those two strategic hills, his cheeks, had not been reduced by the assaults of hunger. There was, moreover, a look of mischief in his eyes, bespeaking a jaunty acceptance of whatever peril and adventure might befall and when he spoke he rolled his R's and screwed up his mouth accordingly. "Maybe you've heard of the Catskills," said Tom. "That's where _he_ lives." "My dad's got a big apple orrcharrd therre," added Archer. Florette Leteur had not heard of the Catskills, but she had heard a good deal about the Americans lately and she looked from one to the other of this hapless pair, who seemed almost to have dropped from the clouds. "You have been not wise to escape," she said sympathetically. "Ze Prussians, zey are sure to catch you.--Tell me more of my bruzzer." "The Prussians ain't so smarrt," said Archer. "They're good at some things, but when it comes to tracking and trailing and all that, they're no good. You neverr hearrd of any famous Gerrman scouts. They're clumsy. They couldn't stalk a mud turrtle."