“A peasant of Lorraine, sir,” said Lieutenant Schmidt.  “He says that his name is Jean Castel, and that he has been selling cattle.  We found him wandering between the lines.  He was unarmed and he has considerable money.”

“Come closer,” said the officer to John.  “I’m Colonel Joachim Stratz, the commander of this regiment, and you must give a thorough account of yourself.”

John advanced willingly and saluted, feeling that the glance Colonel Stratz bent upon him was heavy and piercing.  Yet he awaited the result with confidence.  It was true that he was American, but he had been with the French so much now that he had acquired many of their tricks of manner, and his French accent was impeccable.

“You are a seller of cattle?” said Colonel Stratz, suddenly in English.

The words of reply began to form, but John remembered himself in time.  He was a French peasant who understood no English, and giving Colonel Stratz a puzzled look he shook his head.  But he wondered what suspicion had caused the German to ask him a question in English.  He concluded it must be a mere chance.

Colonel Stratz then addressed him in German, and John replied to all his queries, speaking with a strong French accent, repeating the tale that he had told Lieutenant Schmidt, and answering everything so readily and so convincingly that Colonel Joachim Stratz, an acute and able man, was at last satisfied.

“Where do you wish to go now, Castel?” asked the German.

“To Metz, if it please you, sir.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay, put on a uniform, take up a rifle and fight for our Kaiser and Fatherland?”

John shook his head and put on the preternaturally wise look of the light-witted.

“I’m no soldier,” he replied.

“Why weren’t you called?  You’re of the right age.”

“A little weakness of the heart.  I cannot endure the great strain, but I can drive the cattle.”

“Oh, well, if that is so, you serve us better by sticking to your trade.  Lieutenant Schmidt, give him food and drink, and then I’ll prepare for him a pass through the lines that will take him part of the way to Metz.  He’ll have to get other passes as he goes along.”

John saluted and thanked Colonel Stratz, and then he and Lieutenant Schmidt approached one of the great German kitchen automobiles.  It was easy to play the role of a simple and honest peasant, and while he drank good beer and ate good cheese and sausage, he and Lieutenant Schmidt became quite friendly.

Schmidt asked him many questions.  He wanted to know if he had been near the French lines, and John laughingly replied that he had been altogether too near.  Three rifle bullets fired from some hidden point had whizzed very close to him, and he had run for his life.

“I shall take care never to get lost again,” he said, “and I intend to keep well behind our army.  The battle line is not the place for Jean Castel.  Why spoil a first-class herder to make a second-class soldier?”