Rose said: 'It is a dung-cart. It is not correct to ride in a cart full of horse-dung, mademoiselle. My aunt would be very cross with me if I did that.'
Nicole said brightly: 'Well, I'm going to. You can walk with monsieur and help lead the horse, if you like.' She bustled the other children into the cart before her; it was only half full and there was room for all of them to stand and sit on the edges of the sides in front of the load.
Pierre said: 'May I walk with Rose and lead the horse?'
Nicole said: 'No, Pierre, you're too small for that and the horse walks too quickly. You can stroke his nose when we get there.'
Howard untied the bridle from the gate and led the horse out into the road. He fell into a steady, easy shamble beside the horse, head hanging down.
For an hour and a half they went on like that before they reached the first houses of Lannilis. In the cart Nicole kept the children happy and amused; from time to time the old man heard a little burst of laughter above the clop, clop of the hooves of the old horse. La petite Rose walked on beside him, barefoot, treading lightly.
They passed a good deal of German transport on the road. From time to time lorries would come up behind them and they would pull in to the right to let them pass; the grey-faced, stolid soldiers staring at them incuriously. Once they met a platoon of about thirty infantry marching towards them down the road; the Oberleutnant in charge looked them over, but did not challenge them. Nobody showed much interest in them until they came to Lannilis.
On the outskirts of the town they were stopped. There was a barricade of an elementary nature, of two old motorcars drawn hah0 across the road, leaving only a small passage between. A sentry strolled out sleepily in the hot afternoon and raised his hand. Howard pulled up the horse and stared at him, and mumbled something with head hanging and mouth open. An Unteroffzier came from the guard-house and looked them over.
He asked in very bad French: 'Where are you taking this to?'
The old man raised his head a little and put his hand to one ear. 'Eh?'
The German repeated his question in a louder tone.
'Loudeac,' the old man said. 'Loudeac, outside 1'Aberv-rach.'
The Unteroffizier looked at Nicole. 'And madame goes too?'
Nicole smiled at him and put her hand on Pierre's shoulder. 'It is the little one's birthday,' she said. 'It is not easy to make fete these days. But as my uncle has to make this trip this afternoon, and as the load is only half and therefore easy for the horse, we make this little journey for an outing for the children.'
The old man nodded. 'It is not easy to make a treat for children in times like these.'
The Unteroffizier smiled. 'Proceed,' he said lazily. 'Many happy returns of the day.'
Howard jerked up the old horse, and they passed up the street. There was little traffic to be seen, partly because the French were keeping within doors, partly, no doubt, because of the heat of the afternoon. A few houses were evidently requisitioned by the Germans; there were German soldiers lounging at the windows of bare rooms cleaning their equipment, in the manner of soldiers all over the world. None of them paid any attention to the dung-cart.
By the great church in the middle of the town three tanks were drawn up in the shade of the plane-trees, with half a dozen lorries. From one large house the Swastika flag floated lazily in the hot summer afternoon from a short staff stuck out of a first-floor window.
They paced steadily through the town, past shops and residences, past German officers and German soldiers. At the outskirts of the town they took the right fork at the advertisement for Byrrh, and left the last houses behind them. Presently, blue and hazy in a dip between two fields, the old man saw the sea.
His heart leaped when he saw it. All his life he had taken pleasure from the sight and savour of the sea. In its misty blueness between the green fields it seemed to him almost like a portion of his own country; England seemed very close. By tomorrow evening, perhaps, he would have crossed that blue expanse; he would be safe in England with the children. He trudged on stolidly, but his heart was burning with desire to be at home.
Presently Rose became tired; he stopped the cart and helped her into it. Nicole got down and waiked beside him.
'There is the sea,' she said. 'You have not very far to go now, monsieur.'
'Not very far,' he said.
'You are glad?'
He glanced at her. 'I should be very, very glad, but for one thing,' he said. 'I would like you to be coming with us. Would you not do that?'
She shook her head. 'No, monsieur.'
They walked on in silence for a tune. At last he said: 'I shall never be able to thank you for what you have done for us.'
She said: 'I have benefited the most.'
'What do you mean?' he asked.
She said: 'It was a very bad time when you came. I do not know if I can make you understand.' They walked on in the hot sun in silence for a time. 'I loved John very much,' she said simply. 'Above all things, I wanted to be an Englishwoman. And I should have been one but for the war. Because we meant to marry. Would you have minded that very much?'
He shook his head. 'I should have welcomed you. Don't you know that?'
She said: 'I know that now. But at the time I was terribly afraid of you. We might have been married if I had not been so foolish, and delayed.' She was silent for a minute. Then John - John was killed. And at the same time nothing went right any more. The Germans drove us back, the Belgians surrendered, and the English ran back to their own country from Dunkerque and France was left to fight alone. Then all the papers, and the radio, began to say bad things of the English, that they were treacherous, that they had never really meant to share the battle with us. Horrible things, monsieur.'
'Did you believe them?' he asked quietly.
She said: 'I was more unhappy than you could believe.'
'And now? Do you still believe those things?'
She said: 'I believe this, that there was nothing shameful in my love for John. I think that if we had been married, if I had become an Englishwoman, I should have been happy for the remainder of my life.'
She paused. 'That is a very precious thought, monsieur. For a few weeks it was clouded with doubts and spoilt. Now it is clear once more; I have regained the thing that I had lost. I shall not lose it again.'
They breasted a little rise, and there before them lay the river, winding past the little group of houses that was l'Abervrach, through a long lane of jagged reefs out to the open sea. The girl said: That is l'Abervrach. Now you are very near the end of your journey, Monsieur Howard.'
They walked in silence, leading the horse, down the road to the river and along the water-front, past the cement factory, past the few houses of the village, past the lifeboat-house and the little quay. Beside the quay there was a German E-boat apparently in trouble with her engines, for a portion of her deck amidships was removed and was lying on the quay beside a workshop lorry; men in overalls were busy on her. A few German soldiers lounged on the quay, watching the work and smoking.
They went on past the estaminet and out into the country again. Presently they turned up the hill in a lane full of sweet-briar, and so came to the little farm of Loudeac.
A peasant in a rusty red canvas pullover met them at the gate.
Howard said: 'From Quintin.'
The man nodded and indicated the midden. 'Put it there,' he said. 'And then go away quickly. I wish you good luck, but you must not stay here.'
That is very well understood.'
The man vanished into the house, nor did they see him again. It was getting towards evening; the time was nearly eight o'clock. They got the children down out of the cart and backed the horse till the load was in the right place to tip; then they tipped the wagon and Howard cleared it with a spade. In a quarter of an hour the job was done.
Nicole said: There is time enough, and to spare. If we go now to the estaminet, we can get supper for the little ones - coffee, perhaps, and bread and butter.'
Howard agreed. They got into the empty cart and he jerked up the horse; they moved out of the stable
