Rafael's voice spoke.

"Mon colonel--pardon!"

The colonel turned sharply. "Who is that?"

"There were two Germans," spoke the voice out of the shadows.

The colonel, too astonished to answer, stared. The voice, trembling,
old, went on. "The second man waked and one was obliged to strangle him
also. One brought the brace to the captain at the end of the
carabine--rifle."

"In heaven's name who are you?" demanded the colonel.

From where old Rafael had been, bowed and limp in his humble, worn
clothes, stepped at a stride a soldier, head up, shoulders squared,
glittering eyes forward, and stood at attention. It was like magic. One
hand snapped up in a smart salute.

"Who are you?" whispered the colonel.

"If the colonel pleases--l'Hirondelle."

I heard the colonel's breath come and go as he peered, leaning forward
to the soldierly figure. "_Nom de Ciel_," he murmured, "I believe it
is." Then in sharp sentences: "You were reported killed. Are you a
deserter?"

The steady image of a soldier dropped back a step.