Michaud, head forester, had taken off his grey felt hat respectfully when Valentine introduced him to Guild, there in the lantern light of the winter sheep fold. A dozen or more men standing near by in shadowy groups had silently uncovered at the same time. Two wise-looking sheep dogs, squatted on their haunches, looked at him. Then the girl had left Guild there and returned to the house. "I should like to have a few moments quiet conversation with you," said Guild; and the stalwart, white-haired forester stepped quietly aside with him, following the younger man until they were out of earshot of those gathered by the barred gate of the fold. "You are Belgian?" inquired Guild pleasantly. "_De Trois Fontaines, monsieur._" It was a characteristic reply. A Belgian does not call himself a Belgian. Always he designates his nationality by naming his birthplace--as though the world must know that it is in Belgium. "And those people over there by the sheep fold?" asked Guild. "Our men--some of them--from Ixl, from the Black Erenz and the White, from Lesse--one from Liège. And there is one, a stranger." "From where?" "Moresnet." "Has he any political opinions?" "He says his heart is with us. It is mostly that way in Moresnet." "In Moresnet ten per cent of the people are Germans in sympathy," remarked Guild. "What is this man? A miner?" "A charcoal burner." "Does he seem honest?" "Yes, Monsieur," said the honest forester, simply. Guild laid one hand on the man's broad shoulder: "Michaud," he said quietly, "I know I am among friends if you say I am. I mean friends to Belgium." The dark eyes of the tall forester seemed to emit a sudden sparkle in the dusk. "Monsieur is American?" "Yes. My grandfather was Belgian." "Monsieur is a friend?" "Michaud, my name, in America is Guild. My name in Belgian is Kervyn Gueldres. Judge, then, whether I am a friend to your country and your king." "Gueldres!" whispered the forester, rigid. "Kervyn of Gueldres, Comte d'Yvoir, Hastiere----" "It is so written on the rolls of the Guides." "Monsieur le Comte has served!" "Two years with the colours. I am here to report for duty. Do you feel safe to trust me now, Michaud, my friend?" The tall, straight forester uncovered. "Trust a Gueldres! My God!" "Put on your hat," said Guild, bluntly, "I am American when I deal with men!" "Monsieur le Comte----" "'Monsieur' will do. Give me your hand! That is as it should be. We understand each other I think. Now tell me very clearly exactly what happened this morning on the hill meadows of the Paillard estate." "Monsieur le----" "Please remember!"