"Maybe, but I'll go further and say that the house itself invited us to come in. I've an idea that a house doesn't like to be abandoned and lonely. It prefers to be filled with people and to hear the sounds of voices and laughter. These old European houses which have sheltered generation after generation must be the happiest houses of all. I'd like to live in a house like this and I'd like for a house like this to like me. It would help life a lot for a house and its occupant to be satisfied with each other."

"We feel that way in England about our old country houses," said Carstairs, "and you'll come to it, too, in America, after a while."

"No doubt, but will you have a little more of this champagne? Only a half gla.s.s. I don't believe the owner, who must be a fine French gentleman, would ever begrudge it to us."

"Just a little. We're rather young for champagne, we three, but we've been doing men's work, and we've been through men's dangers. I wonder what they're doing along the Strand, tonight, John!"

"The same that they've been doing every night for the last hundred years. But you listen to me, Carstairs, old England will have to wake up. This war can't be won by dilettantes."

"Oh, she'll wake up. Don't you worry. It's not worth while to get excited."

"To take a serious view of a serious situation is not to grow excited.

You Britishers often make me tired. To pretend indifference in the face of everything is obviously an affectation, and becomes more offensive than boasting."

"All right, I won't resent it. Here, John, take another piece of this cold ham. I didn't know they had such fine ham in France."

"They've a lot of splendid things in France," retorted John, in high, good humor, "and we'll find it out fast. I'm thinking the French soldiers will prove a good deal better than some people say they are, and this chateau is certainly fine. It must have been put here for our especial benefit."

"Now that we've eaten all we want and our clothing is dried thoroughly,"

said Carstairs, "I suggest that we put out the fire. There isn't much smoke, but it goes up that flue and escapes somewhere. Even in the night the Germans might see it."

"Good advice, Carstairs," said Wharton. "You're as intelligent sometimes as the Americans are all the time."

"Pleasant children you Americans."

"Some day we'll save the aged English from destruction."

"Meanwhile we'll wait."

They extinguished the fire, carefully put away all the dishes they had used, restored everything to its pristine neatness, and then the three yawned prodigiously.

"Bedrooms next," said Carstairs.

"Do you propose that we spend the night here," said Wharton.

"That's my idea. We're worn out. We've got to sleep, somewhere. No use breaking ourselves down, and we've found the chateau here waiting for us."

"What about the Germans?"

"We'll have to take our chances. War is nothing but a chain of chances, so far as your life is concerned."

The other two wanted to be persuaded, and they yielded readily, but John insisted upon one precaution.

"Old houses like this are likely to have isolated chambers," he said.

"Some of them I suppose have their secret rooms, and if we can find such a place, lock the door on ourselves, and go to sleep in it we're not likely to wake up prisoners of the Germans."

Wharton and Carstairs approved of his suggestion, and they examined the house thoroughly. John concluded from the presence of all the furniture and the good order in which they found everything that the departure of its owners had been hasty, perhaps, too, with the expectation of a return on the morrow.

The room that they liked best they found on the third floor, not a secret chamber, but one that chance visitors to the house would not be likely to see. A narrow stairway starting near it led down through the rear of the house, and the door was fastened with a heavy lock in which the key remained.

It contained only some boxes, and John surmised that it was a storeroom.

But it seemed to suit their purpose admirably, and, bringing blankets from one of the bedrooms, they made their beds on the floor.

John was the last to go to sleep. The others were slumbering soundly before he lay down, but he stood a little while at the single window, looking out. The window was closed ordinarily with a heavy shutter, which was now sagging open. The boughs of a great tree waved almost against it.

The night was clear, but John saw nothing unusual outside. The chateau, and all its buildings and grounds were bathed in clear moonlight. The only sound was the soothing murmur of leaves before a light wind. It was hard to realize that a great war was sweeping Europe, and that they were in the thick of it.

But utter exhaustion claimed him, too, and soon three instead of two were sleeping soundly.

CHAPTER XIII

ON THE ROOF

John was awakened by the measured thud of heavy boots. It resembled the goosestep of the German army, and he turned over in order to stop the unpleasant dream. But it did not stop, and he sat up. Then it was louder, and it also had an echo.

His heart thumped wildly for a moment or two. The tread was inside the house, and it was made by many men. He slipped to the window, and his heart thumped more wildly than ever. The lawn was covered with German troops, most of them on horseback, the helmets of the Uhlans glittering in the moonlight. Officers stood on the steps at the main door, and at the edge of the vineyard were cannon.

John thought at first that they were lost. Then he remembered their precaution in securing an obscure and isolated room. The Germans might not trouble themselves about ransacking an abandoned house. At least there was hope.

He awoke his comrades in turn, first clasping his hands over their mouths lest they speak aloud.

"We have fellow guests," he said. "The Germans are sharing the house with us."

"Yes, I hear their boots on the steps," said Wharton. "What are we to do?"

John again resumed the leadership.

"Do nothing," he replied. "Do nothing as hard and continuously as we can. Our door is locked. It's natural that it should be so, only we must slip out the key, so it will appear that the owners having locked the door, took the key away with them. Then we'll lie quiet, and see what happens."

"It's the thing to do," said Carstairs, "because we can do nothing else.

But I don't believe I can go to sleep, not to the chorus of German boots on the steps."

John slipped the big key from the lock and put it in a corner. Then he lay down again beside the other two. They could hear better with their ears to the floor. It was a solid and heavily built house in the European fashion. Nevertheless they heard the tread from many parts of it, and the sound of voices also.

"It's an invasion," whispered Carstairs. "They're all over the shop."

"Looks like it," said John, "but I've a notion that we're safe here unless they conclude to burn the house. The German advance is so rapid it doesn't seem likely to me they'll stay longer than tonight."

"Still I can't sleep."

John laughed to himself. He was becoming so thoroughly hardened to danger that the complaint of Carstairs amused him.

"They've got an affection for the top of the house," said Wharton, "You can hear them pounding through the upper rooms, and even on the roof."