Alsatian. I was born at Strassburg.” [Pg 66] [Pg 66] “Oh,” said Stewart, remembering the tone in which Bloem had spoken of Alsace-Lorraine and beginning vaguely to understand. “An Alsatian.” “Yes; but only Alsatians understand the meaning of that word. To be an Alsatian is to be a slave, is to be the victim of insult, oppression, tyranny past all belief. My father was murdered by the Germans; my two brothers have been dragged away into the German army and sent to fight the Russians, since Germany knows well that no Alsatian corps would fight the French! Oh, how we have prayed and prayed for this war of restitution—the war which will give us back to France!” “Yes; I hope it will,” agreed Stewart, heartily. “Of a certainty you do!” she said, eagerly. “All Americans do. Not one have I ever known who took the German side. How could they? How could any American be on the side of despotism? Oh, impossible! America is on our side! And you, as an American, will assist me to escape my enemies.” “Your enemies?” “I will not deceive you,” she said, earnestly. “I trust you. I have lived all my life at Strassburg and at Metz, those two outposts against France—those two great fortresses of cities which the Germans have done their utmost to make impregnable, but [Pg 67]which are not impregnable if attacked in a certain way. They have their weak spot, just as every fortress has. I have dissembled, I have lied—I have pretended to admire the gold-laced pigs—I have permitted them to kiss my hand—I have listened to their confidences, their hopes and fears—I have even joined in their toast ‘The Day!’ Always, always have I kept my eyes and ears open. Bit by bit, have I gathered what I sought—a hint here, a hint there ... I must get to France, my friend, and you must help me! Surely you will be glad to strike a blow at these braggart Prussians! It is not for myself I ask it—though, if I am taken, there will be for me only one brief moment, facing a file of soldiers; I ask it for France—for your sister Republic!” [Pg 67] If it had been for France alone, Stewart might still have hesitated; but as he gazed down into that eloquent face, wrung with desperate anxiety, he seemed to see, as in a vision, a file of soldiers in spiked helmets facing a wall where stood a lovely girl, her eyes flaming, her head flung
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