"They came on, picking their way. And of a sudden the electric breast-torch on one of them breaks out like a blinding star, plays over the road, then lights up the calf which is terrified and backs into the hedge. "He drives his lance-butt into the sod and gets out of his saddle. His comrade sits the other horse, pistol lifted, elbow on thigh. And there comes then another Uhlan, walking and leading his horse--three of the dirty brigands, Monsieur, across the border and on our side!" "Go on." "Eh bien--we bled them!" "You killed them?" "Yes, Monsieur--two there by the hedge in the grassy ditch; the other hung to his horse for a while--but came off sideways. One spur caught and his horse took him back that way--across the border." "Go on." "We took their schapskas. Jean Pascal wished to go across the border after more Wolves. He was crazy. And the blood made us all a little drunk. And then we found that the Moresnet man had gone. That chilled us." He wiped his face with his sleeve, never taking his eyes from the wall across the garden. "After that," he said, "we lay very still, watching. And in a little while an Uhlan crossed the hill pasture walking his horse slowly against the stars. Then there were others moving across the sky up there, and we also heard others on the road. So we have been quietly falling back into the forest where, if they follow, they shall not go back, please God!" "Where is Michaud?" "He was very angry, but, since the affair has really begun, he is with us, of course." "Where is he?" "He went to the house to find you an hour ago." Guild bit his lip in silence. The stupidity of what had been done, the utter hopelessness of the situation sickened him. The slow, groping peasant mind, occupied always with the moment's problem only, solving it by impulse and instinct alone--what could be done with such a mind--what could be hoped from it except under patiently inculcated military discipline. Loosened from that, and defending its property from actual or threatened aggression, it became a furtive, fierce and quickened mind, alternately cunning and patiently ferocious. But of reason, or of logic, it reckons nothing, knows nothing. Trouble had begun--trouble was abroad already in the star-light--moving, menacing. "What is your word?" he asked bluntly. "Yslemont." He turned to Karen, who stood quietly beside him: "The ladies must leave this house tonight. There is no time at all to waste. There is going to be real trouble here by morning. And I am going to ask you if you will give these American ladies shelter tonight at Quellenheim. Will you, Karen?" "Of course." "From there they can go to the city of Luxembourg tomorrow, and so into Holland. But they ought to go now." "And you, Kervyn?" "I shall be very busy," he said. "Come back to the house, now."