Just ahead Lucie saw Annette with her grandfather who was helping along the feeble steps of his wife toward a ramshackle carriage which stood waiting for them. Everything in the way of a vehicle had been pressed into service. A woman was pushing a perambulator whose occupant, a little six months old baby, was almost hidden by the goods and chattels packed about him. Mothers hurried the tripping steps of their children. Old men hobbled haltingly. One decrepit old soul trundled in a wheelbarrow her more decrepit old husband. Pigs, cows, sheep, geese, turkeys had part in the procession. Little children hugged pet chickens or rabbits. Some had birds in cages; others clung fast to a favorite doll or a wooden horse. The roar of the guns sounded more and more threatening. Fires flared up. There was the noise of crashing walls as the company moved on, on, down the road toward safety, leaving home and all its beloved associations behind them. CHAPTER IV A LONELY NIGHT Footsore, weary, hour after hour Lucie dragged herself along. The little bundle, which at first seemed not too great a weight, at last became intolerably heavy. One by one Paulette disposed of her bundles. Mons. Du Bois staggered under the valises, but refused to give them up. Poor little Pom Pom faithfully followed his mistress. At times he would lie down quite exhausted but always he caught up with his friends. At last came along a cart drawn by two stout horses whose driver hailed them. “Ah, Mons. Du Bois, this is a sad journey for you,” he said. “I can perhaps give you a lift.” Mons. Du Bois hesitated. “You are very kind, my friend,” he said at last. “It is not I who need the lift, but if you could take these valises a short distance it would ease my old back. In my soldiering days I could carry a much heavier weight. I tried in vain to hire some sort of conveyance, but everything was spoken for. My youthful strength has forsaken me, I fear.” “I can make room for you,” insisted the man. “Not for me, but for my granddaughter, perhaps.” “Then mademoiselle?” The man turned to Lucie. She shook her head. “No, no, I am young and strong. I prefer it should be my grandfather. We can travel along slowly, grandpère, and meet you farther on, by nightfall.” “We shall not be traveling very fast with our load,” said the driver, “and we shall not more than make the next village where is the station. It was still untouched from last reports and I hope one can travel by rail the rest of the way. Come, monsieur, better mount the cart.” Mons. Du Bois argued still further, but at last consented to accept the man’s kind offer. The old man was very weary and that wound which he had received in his soldiering days still gave him discomfort. “We can relieve you a little of your load, too, my good woman,” the man told Paulette. “Let us have one of those heavy baskets.” Nothing loath Paulette handed up a basket, and the wagon moved on, the two sturdy horses quite equal to the added weight.