patch and then across a field, cuts into the main road some two hundred
metres higher up.

Hercule and I had decided that he would walk the three leagues into
Calais, despite the cold, which was intense, and the blizzard, which was
nearly blinding, and that he would call at the post of gendarmerie at
the city gates, and there see the officer in command and tell him the
exact state of the case. It would then be for that officer to decide
what was to be done; our responsibility as loyal citizens would be
completely covered.

Hercule, you must know, had just emerged from our cabbage-patch on to
the field when he was suddenly challenged:

"Qui va la?"

He gave his name. His certificate of citizenship was in his pocket; he
had nothing to fear. Through the darkness and the veil of snow he had
discerned a small group of men wearing the uniform of the 9th Regiment
of the Line.

"Four men," said the foremost of these, speaking quickly and
commandingly, "wearing the same uniform that I and my men are wearing...
have you seen them?"

"Yes," said Hercule hurriedly.

"Where are they?"

"In the outhouse close by."