Hortense touched Grigge’s arm. “There is some supper here for you, an omelette that I’m cooking. It’s made with two of the eggs you brought us yesterday. Proté has taught me to cook it, and I want you to say it’s good!” She spoke in a friendly way, and nothing could have showed plainer than her manner how they were all learning to know one another and to help. It was necessary that they keep occupied, and Hortense and Proté had many a laugh over the former’s attempt at cooking. Bertran was the greatest problem, for he was determined to go out, and they trembled that he would in some way, in spite of his disguise, make trouble by causing suspicion. The days had gone by and they had not seen a living soul but themselves. Grigge had gone away every morning and stayed away all day, searching for Anastasius Grubb, whom at last he had found, and who had promised them his aid when the dear ones from Paris should come. And the wayfarers—they who had come through the gates of Paris, through danger so great that it had seemed a simple thing to take one’s chance at once and without question when it came one’s way—where were they? They were thundering through the countryside, sometimes on the main highroad, but mostly through back lanes and untraveled pasture roads. The cart bumped about so much that their very heads whirled and they had to hold on just as hard as they could. They became so exhausted that they fell asleep in spite of themselves and their excitement. They ate what was given them by Champar and Dian, swallowing their food with dry lips and throats. Always there was the dread of meeting advancing outposts of the army. Once they had to hide, coach and all, for a day and part of a night in a copse in the woods. One morning Champar turned to them, his eye cocked severely. “If no one asks me once to-day if we’ll see the others surely, and if they really are safe in the barn, and if I am sure that Grigge was able to find Anastasius Grubb, I’ll tell you all something!” They were all growing used to Champar, and Marie Josephine and Rosanne answered at once, “Tell us, Champar, hurry, tell us!” Lisle and Dian were walking beside the cart, and they came close to the side of it when Champar spoke, but he calmly urged his horse on and seemed suddenly lost in thought. “What is it, Champar? Tell us!” Lisle put his hand on the side of the coach and looked up at the driver. Lisle was pale and tired and covered with dust. He had driven all night, so that Dian and Champar, who had had the brunt of the journey, could rest. “Shall we see our mother? Tell us, Champar.” Lisle’s lips quivered ever so slightly as he spoke. “Tell us,” he repeated, and there was the old imperious ring in his voice as he spoke.