Léontine, however, led them with the quiet certainty of a country-born girl moving in a familiar environment. She could guess to a yard just where the track was diverted by some huge-limbed elm or far-spreading chestnut, and invariably picked up the right line again, for the excellent reason, no doubt, that the dense undergrowth stood breast high elsewhere at that season of the year.
After a walk that seemed much longer than it really was--the radius of the wood from the hut being never more than two hundred yards in any direction--the others heard her say anxiously, "Are you there, father?"
"Where the deuce do you think I'd be?" came the irritated demand. "Do you imagine that your mother and I are skipping down these rocks like a couple of weasels?"
"It is quite safe," said the girl. "I and Marie Lafarge went down only last Thursday. Jules always goes that way to Argenteau. He has cut steps in the bad places. Jan and I will lead. We can help mother and you."
Dalroy, still holding Irene's arm, pressed forward.
"Oh, is that you, _Monsieur l'Anglais_?" chuckled the miller. "Name of a pipe, I was positive those _sales Alboches_ had got you twenty minutes since. Yes, if you trip in the next few yards you'll find yourself on the tow-path after falling sixty feet."
"Go on, Léontine!" commanded Dalroy. "What you and your friend did for amusement we can surely do to save our lives. But there should be moonlight on this side. Have any clouds come up?"
"These are firs in front, monsieur. Once clear of them, we can see."
"Very well. Don't lose another second. Only, before beginning the descent, make certain that the river bank holds no Germans."
Joos grumbled, but his wife silenced him. That good lady, it appeared, had given up hope when the struggle broke out in the kitchen. She had been snatched from the jaws of death by a seeming miracle, and regarded Dalroy as a very Paladin. She attributed her rescue entirely to him, and was almost inclined to be sceptical of Joos's sensational story about the killing of Busch. "There never was such a man for arguing," she said sharply. "I do believe you'd contradict an archbishop. Do as the gentleman bids you. He knows best."
Now, seeing that madame herself, after one look, had refused point-blank to tackle the supposed path, and had even insisted on retreating to the cover of the wood, Joos was entitled to protest. Being a choleric little man, he would assuredly have done so fully and freely had not a red light illumined the tree-tops, while the crackle of a fire was distinctly audible. The Germans had reached the top of the quarry, and, in order to dissipate the impenetrable gloom, had converted the hut into a beacon.