“Advance slowly, one by one.” The poor creatures were terrified and bewildered. “We are trying to escape!” “Pass on.” After a bit I return to see Berthet. “Anything new?” “No, nothing.” “Supposing you look around more at the left.” “All right.” I resume my place. All at once, I hear the clatter of horses’ hoofs. Berthet rejoins me. “Do you hear that?” “Yes. It must be they. Don’t forget. Fire, then run across fields.” The cavalcade approaches, is clearly audible. With eyes strained, I can still see nothing in the blackness. Suddenly I catch the glitter of helmets. “Halt, there!” “Gendarmes!” cries a voice, “don’t shoot!” French gendarmes, in retreat! “Advance slowly, one by one.” The troop halts. One horseman advances, stops at ten paces from my bayonet. “I am a brigadier of the gendarmes, brigade of Avor. I have not the password.” The voice is indeed French. I recognize the uniform--but I still fear a possible trap. “Command your men to pass, one by one.” The order is executed without reply. Some ten men file by. “Look out for yourselves,” says the last horseman, “the Uhlans are at our heels.” “Thanks for the information. Tell that to the officer whom you will meet about a hundred metres from here.” “Good luck to you.” _Ouf!_ Berthet and I both grow hot. The watching brings us together, we remain together. One feels stronger with company. * * * * * It begins to rain--only a mist at first, then a steady rain. The poor fugitives tramp along, miserable, driven ghosts, weird figures in the blackness of the night. Some of them give scraps of information in passing. “They are at the chapel.” “They are arriving at Saint Michel.” “There are twenty Uhlans at the _mairie_.” Our lieutenant makes his round. “Nothing new?” “Nothing, sir.” “Very well, I am going to look about, as far as the town. I will be back in about fifteen minutes.” “Very well, sir.”