Henri knew his country well, as well as he loved it. In a farmhouse

behind the German lines he sometimes doffed his wet gray-green uniform

and put on the clothing of a Belgian peasant. Trust Henri then for being

a lout, a simple fellow who spoke only Flemish--but could hear in many

tongues. Watch him standing at crossroads and marveling at big guns that

rumble by.

At first Henri had wished, having learned of an attack, to be among those

who repelled it. Then one day his King had sent for him to come to that

little village which was now his capital city.

He had been sent in alone and had found the King at the table, writing.

Henri bowed and waited. They were not unlike, these two men, only Henri

was younger and lighter, and where the King's eyes were gray Henri's were

blue. Such a queer setting for a king it was--a tawdry summer home,

ill-heated and cheaply furnished. But by the presence of Belgium's man

of all time it became royal.

So Henri bowed and waited, and soon the King got up and shook hands with

him. As a matter of fact they knew each other rather well, but to

explain more would be to tell that family name of Henri's which must

never be known.

"Sit down," said the King gravely. And he got a box of cigars from the

mantelpiece and offered it. "I sent for you because I want to talk to

you. You are doing valuable work."

"I am glad you think it so, sire," said Henri rather unhappily, because

he felt what was coming. "But I cannot do it all the time. There are

intervals--"

An ordinary mortal may not interrupt a king, but a king may interrupt

anything, except perhaps a German bombardment.

"Intervals, of course. If there were not you would be done in a month."

"But I am a soldier. My place is--"

"Your place is where you are most useful."

Henri was getting nothing out of the cigar. He flung it away and got up.

"I want to fight too," he said stubbornly. "We need every man, and I

am--rather a good shot. I do this other because I can do it. I speak

their infernal tongue. But it's dirty business at the best, sire." He

remembered to put in the sire, but rather ungraciously. Indeed he shot

it out like a bullet.

"Dirty business!" said the King thoughtfully. "I see what you mean. It

is, of course. But--not so dirty as the things they have done, and are

doing."




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