Part 14 (2/2)
”Nuzzing you write down,” the old man said sharply, clutching Tom's arm.
”In your brain where you are so clevaire--zere you write it. So! You are not so clevaire as Melotte. Now I will show you how you shall find Mam'selle,” he went on with a sly wink.
Emptying some wool out of a paper bag, he pressed the wrinkles from the bag with his trembling old hand and bending over the rough table close to the lantern, he drew a map somewhat similar to, though less complete than, the one given here.
[Ill.u.s.tration: SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BY TOM AND ARCHER.]
There is nothing like a map to show one ”where he is at,” to quote Archer's phrase, and the boys followed with great interest as Melotte penciled the course of the Rhine and the places which he wished to emphasize in the southern part of Alsace.
”Here at Norne lives my comrade, Blondel,” he said. ”Two years we work togezzer at Pas_sake_--you know? In ze great silk mills.”
”Pa.s.saic,” said Tom; ”that's near Bridgeboro, where I live.”
”Pas_sake_, yess. So now you are so clevaire to know who shall leeve in a house, I will tell you how you shall know ze house of my comrade, Blondel. _By ze blue flag with one black spot!_ Yess? You know what ziss shall be? _Billet!_” He gave Archer a dig in the ribs as if this represented the high water mark of sagacity.
”Oh, I know,” said Archer; ”it means Gerrman officerrs are billeted therre. Go-o-od _night_! Not for us!”
The old man did not seem quite to understand, but he turned again to his map. ”Here now is ze new road,” he said, drawing it with his shaky old hand. ”From ze Rhine road it runs--south--so. Now you are so clevaire--Yankee clevaire, ha, ha, ha!” he laughed with a kind of irritating hilarity; ”why should zey make ziss road? From ze north--from Leteur--all around--zey bring our women to make ziss road. Ziss is where Mam'selle is--so! Close by it lives my comrade, Blondel. Ziss is n.o.ble army to command, ugh!” He gritted his teeth. ”_All are women!_”
Tom looked at the map, as old Melotte poised his skinny finger above it and peered eagerly up into his face from the depths of his scraggly white hair. It was little enough Tom knew about military affairs and he thought that this lonesome old weaver was in his dotage. But surely this new road could be for but one purpose, and that was the quick transfer of troops from the Alsatian front to the Swiss border. And the sudden conscription of women and girls for the making of the road seemed plausible enough. Could it be that this furnished a clew to the whereabouts of Florette Leteur? And if it did, what hope was there of reaching her, or of rescuing her?
He listened only abstractedly to the old man's rambling talk of Germany's intention to violate Swiss neutrality if that became necessary to her purpose. His eyes were half closed as he looked at the rough sketch and he saw there considerably more than old Melotte had drawn.
He saw Frenchy's sister Florette, slender and frail, wielding some heavy implement, doing her enforced bit in this work of shameless betrayal. He could see her eyes, sorrow-laden and filled with fear. He could see her as she had stood talking with him that night in the arbor.
He could see her, orphaned and homeless, slaving under the menacing shadow of a German officer who sprawled and lorded it in the poor home of this Blondel close by the new road. _Here he climb to drop ze grapes down my neck. Bad boy!_ Strange, how that particular phrase of hers singled itself out and stuck in his memory.
”So now you are so _clevaire_,” he half heard old Melotte saying to Archer.
And Tom Slade said nothing, only thought, and thought, and thought....
CHAPTER XVII
THE CLOUDS GATHER
”We never thought about asking him to translate that letterr,” said Archer.
”I'm not thinking about that letter,” Tom answered. ”All I'm thinking about now is what he said about that new road. I'm not even thinking about their going through Switzerland, either,” he added with great candor. ”I'm thinking about Frenchy's sister. If they've got her working there I'm going to rescue her. I made up my mind to that.”
”_Some job!_” commented Archer.
”It don't make any difference how much of a job it is,” said Tom, with that set look about his mouth that Archer was coming to know and respect.
They were clambering up the hillside again, for not all old Melotte's hospitable urging could induce Tom to remain in the hut until daylight.
He would have liked to take along the rough sketch which the old man had made, but this Melotte had strenuously opposed, saying that no maps should be carried by strangers in Germany. So Tom had to content himself with the old man's rather rambling directions.
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