I couldn't tell you about them if I would.

We drive along a narrow road between high earthworks and we see nothing." Their entry into Metz was slow and long.

John was compelled to show his passport again and again, and he answered innumerable questions, many searching and pointed, but again he was thrice lucky in knowing the town and something about Lorraine.
Now that he was inside, with a powerful German army all about him, he must decide soon what to do.

Fortunately he had made a friend of Scheller who advised him to go to a little Inn near the Moselle, much frequented by thrifty peasants, and John concluded to take his advice.
"Good-by, Castel," said Scheller, reaching out a huge fist.

"I like you and I hope we'll meet in Paris soon." John took the fist in a hand not as large as Scheller's, but almost as powerful, and shook it.
"Here's to the meeting in Paris," he said, but he added under his breath, "may it happen, with you as my unwounded prisoner." He left Scheller after thanks for the ride, and found his way to the Inn of the Golden Lion, which was crowded with stout farmers and peasants.
It was old-fashioned, with a great room where most of the men sat on benches before a huge fire, which cast a cheerful glow over ruddy faces.