“I ran off,” he said. There was a dead silence. He stood, putting himself at the mercy of the women. There came a hissing from the stove, and a stronger smell of coffee. Emilie turned swiftly away. He saw her flat, straight back and her strong loins, as she bent over the stove. “But what are you going to do?” said Fräulein Hesse, aghast. “I don’t know,” he said, grasping at more cherries. He had come to an end. “You’d better go to the barracks,” she said. “We’ll get the Herr Baron to come and see about it.” Emilie was swiftly and quietly preparing the tray. She picked it up, and stood with the glittering china and silver before her, impassive, waiting for his reply. Bachmann remained with his head dropped, pale and obstinate. He could not bear to go back. “I’m going to try to get into France,” he said. “Yes, but they’ll catch you,” said Fräulein Hesse. Emilie watched with steady, watchful grey eyes. “I can have a try, if I could hide till tonight,” he said. Both women knew what he wanted. And they all knew it was no good. Emilie picked up the tray, and went out. Bachmann stood with his head dropped. Within himself he felt the dross of shame and incapacity. “You’d never get away,” said the governess. “I can try,” he said. Today he could not put himself between the hands of the military. Let them do as they liked with him tomorrow, if he escaped today. They were silent. He ate cherries. The colour flushed bright into the cheek of the young governess. Emilie returned to prepare another tray. “He could hide in your room,” the governess said to her. The girl drew herself away. She could not bear the intrusion. “That is all I can think of that is safe from the children,” said Fräulein Hesse. Emilie gave no answer. Bachmann stood waiting for the two women. Emilie did not want the close contact with him. “You could sleep with me,” Fräulein Hesse said to her. Emilie lifted her eyes and looked at the young man, direct, clear, reserving herself. “Do you want that?” she asked, her strong virginity proof against him. “Yes—yes——” he said uncertainly, destroyed by shame. She put back her head. “Yes,” she murmured to herself. Quickly she filled the tray, and went out. “But you can’t walk over the frontier in a night,” said Fräulein Hesse. “I can cycle,” he said. Emilie returned, a restraint, a neutrality, in her bearing. “I’ll see if it’s all right,” said the governess. In a moment or two Bachmann was following Emilie through the square hall, where hung large maps on the walls. He noticed a child’s blue coat with brass buttons on the peg, and it reminded him of Emilie walking holding the hand of the youngest child, whilst he watched, sitting under the lime tree. Already this was a long way off. That was a sort of freedom he had lost, changed for a new, immediate anxiety. They went quickly, fearfully up the stairs and down a long corridor. Emilie opened her door, and he entered, ashamed, into her room.