His diagnosis was alarming. A double congestion of the lungs. He prescribed cold water compresses. "And--and the departure...." "Oh, it is quite out of the question! The lady could not stand the journey. It is absolutely impossible." "Then ... we are not going either...." "That is no business of mine." And the doctor withdrew with a shrug of his shoulders. Mad with despair we went to the commandant of the camp, Antoinette and I. "We cannot go. Our sister is ill; we cannot forsake her." "Why, you must go, you are not ill." We did not know what saint to pray to; we looked out for help. The mayor of Jouville vainly went to the _Kommandantur_ of Marle to plead our cause: "All emigrants in good health must go." Such was the answer. Geneviève tossed about her bed, and protested: "I want to go; I will go. I will not run aground, as we are reaching the port." But the doctor, once more consulted, repeated emphatically: "Impossible, impossible." "Then allow us to stay too." "Impossible, impossible." At length, towards evening--the whole camp with the whole village sympathised with us--some one told me: "An officer from Marle is at the Red Cross. Go and try again." We ran to see him. I well-nigh fell at his feet, and besought him. He looked somewhat moved. "Well, let me see what I can do. You are sure the lady is unable to travel?" he asked the doctor. "Absolutely. She cannot be moved." "I cannot be moved either," I cried. "Please examine me. You will see there is something the matter with my heart, and if I am driven to go, it will be the death of me." "Well," the officer said, "let us see." His eyes gave consent. He turned to the doctor. "You might examine her, and see if the journey would not endanger her life." The doctor tossed his head, and smiled an incredulous smile. "Hum, hum, it can't be denied there is something wrong with her heart," ... and, taking a pen, he signed the slip which I so much desired. What a relief! Geneviève would not be left, seriously ill, among strangers. "And I, what am I to do?" Antoinette moaned. "Ah! you must go." There was nothing else to do. On the way home I tried to encourage her, miserable as she was at going away alone. The next day I left Geneviève, burning with fever, in Mme. Charvet's care, and went to see the convoy start, heart-broken. The sun lit up the scene; everybody was in a flutter of excitement. Villagers had been requisitioned, with carts and horses, to convey the children, the infirm, and the luggage. The crowd set out, under the conduct of the soldiers, amid calls and shouts. Many emigrants were crying: "Where are we going to? Whither shall we be taken?" Several families were severed one from another, for about fifteen men had been thought too strong to leave the invaded territory. They might turn soldiers, and fight against the Germans! The charity children, delighted at the prospect, flocked around me. "You will come later on, won't you, madam?"