yard and down the road towards the village. At a turn of the road the whole entrance to the harbour lay before them, sunny and blue in the soft evening light. In the long reach between the jagged rocks there was a fishing-boat with a deep brown lug sail coming in from the sea; faintly they heard the putter of an engine.
The old man glanced at the girl. 'Focquet,' he said.
She nodded. 'I think so.'
They went on down to the village. At the estaminet, under the incurious glances of the German soldiers, they got out of the cart; Howard tied the bridle of the old horse to a rail.
Ronnie said in French: 'Is that a torpedo-boat? May we go and see it?'
'Not now,' said Nicole. 'We're going to have supper now.'
'What are we going to have for supper?'
They went into the estaminet. There were a few fishermen there standing by the bar, who looked at them narrowly; it seemed to Howard that they had divined his secret as soon as they set eyes on him. He led the children to a table in a far corner of the room, a little way away from the men. Nicole went through to the kitchen of the place to speak to Madame about supper for the children.
Supper came presently, bread and butter and coffee for the children, red wine mixed with water for Nicole and the old man. They ate uneasily, conscious of the glances at them from the bar, speaking only to assist the children in their meal. It seemed to Howard that this was the real crux of their journey; this was the only time when he had felt his own identity in question. The leaden time crept on, but it was not yet nine o'clock.
Their meal finished, the children became restless. It was still not nine o'clock, and it was necessary to spin out time. Ronnie said, wriggling in his chair: 'May we get down and go and look at the sea?'
It was better to have them out of the way than calling fresh attention to the party in the estaminet. Howard said: 'Go on. You can go just outside the door and lean over the harbour wall. Don't go any farther than that.'
Sheila went with him; the other children stayed quiet in their seats. Howard ordered another bottle of the thin red wine.
At ten minutes past nine a big, broad-shouldered young man in fisherman's red poncho and sea boots rolled into the estaminet. One would have said that he had visited competitive establishments on the way, because he reeled a little at the bar. He took in all the occupants of the estaminet in one swift, revolving glance like a light- house.
'Ha!' he said. 'Give me a Pernod des Anges, and to hell with the sale Boche.'
The men at the bar said: 'Quietly. There are Germans outside.'
The girl behind the bar wrinkled her brows. 'Pernod des Anges? It is a pleasantry, no doubt? Ordinary Pernod for m'sieur.'
The man said: 'You have no Pernod des Anges?'
'No, m'sieur. I have never heard of it.'
The man remained silent, holding to the bar with one hand, swaying a little.
Howard got up and went to him. 'If you would like to join us in a glass of the rouge,' he said.
'Assuredly.' The young man left the bar and crossed with him to the table.
Howard said quietly: 'Let me introduce you. This is my daughter-in-law, Mademoiselle Nicole Rougeron.'
The young man stared at him. 'You must be more careful of your French idiom,' he said softly out of the corner of his mouth. 'Keep your mouth shut and leave the talking to me.'
He slumped down into a seat beside them. Howard poured him out a glass of the red wine; the young man added water to it and drank. He said quietly: 'Here is the matter. My boat lies at the quay, but I cannot take you on board here, because of the Germans. You must wait here till it is dark, and then take the footpath to the Phare des Vaches - that is an automatic light on the rocks, half a mile towards the sea, that is not now in use. I will meet you there with the boat.'
Howard said: 'That is clear enough. How do we get on to the footpath from here?'
FocqweT proceeded to tell him. Howard was sitting with his back to the estaminet door facing Nicole. As he sat listening to the directions, his eye fell on the girl's face, strained and anxious.
'Monsieur...' she said, and stopped.
There was a heavy step behind him, and a few words spoken in German. He swung round in his chair; the young Frenchman by his side did the same. There was a German soldier there, with a rifle. Beside him was one of the engineers from the E-boat by the quay in stained blue dungarees.
The moment remained etched on the old man's memory. In the background the fishermen around the bar stood tense and motionless; the girl had paused, cloth in hand, in the act of wiping a glass.
It was the man in dungarees who spoke. He spoke in English with a German-American accent.
'Say,' he said. 'How many of you guys are Britishers?'
There was no answer from the group.
He said: 'Well, we'll all just get along to the guard-room and have a l'il talk with the Feldwebel. And don't let any of you start getting fresh, because that ain't going to do you any good.'
He repeated himself in very elementary French.
Chapter 10
There was a torrent of words from Focquet, rather cleverly poured out with well-simulated alcoholic indignation. He knew nothing, he said, of these others; he was just taking a glass of wine with them - there was no harm in that. He was about to sail, to catch the tide. If he went with them to the guard-room there would be no fish for dejeuner tomorrow, and how would they like that? Landsmen could never see farther than their own noses. What about his boat, moored at the quay? Who would look after that?
The sentry prodded him roughly in the back with the butt of his rifle, and Focquet became suddenly silent.
Two more Germans, a private and a Gefreiter, came hurrying in; the party were hustled tb their feet and herded out of the door. Resistance was obviously useless. The man in dungarees went out ahead of them, but he reappeared in a few minutes bringing with him Ronnie and Sheila. Both were very much alarmed, Sheila in tears.
'Say,' he said to Howard, 'I guess these belong to you. They talk English pretty fine, finer 'n anyone could learn it.'
Howard took one of them hand in hand with him on each side, but said nothing. The man in dungarees stared oddly at him for a minute, and remained standing staring after them as they were shepherded towards the guard-room in the gathering dusk.
Ronnie said, frightened: 'Where are we going to now, Mr Howard? Have the Germans got us?'
Howard said: 'We're just going with them for a little business. Don't be afraid; they won't do anything to hurt us.'
The little boy said: 'I told Sheila you would be angry if she talked English, but she would do it.'
Nicole said: 'Did she talk English to the man Jn the overall?'
Ronnie nodded. Then he glanced up timorously at the old man. 'Are you angry, Mr Howard?' he ventured.
There was no point in making more trouble for the children than they had already coming to them. 'No,' he said. 'It would have been better if she hadn't, but we won't say any more about it.'
Sheila was still crying bitterly. 'I like talking English,' she wailed.
Howard stooped and wiped her eyes; the guards, considerately enough, paused for a moment while he did so. 'Never mind,' he said. 'You can talk as much English as you like now.'
She walked on with him soberly, in sniffing, moist silence.
A couple of hundred yards up the road to Lannilis they were wheeled to the right and marched into the house that was the guard-room. In a bare room the Feldwebel was hastily buttoning his tunic as they came in. He sat down behind a bare trestle table; their guards ranged them in front of him.
He glanced them up and down scornfully. 'So,' he said at last. 'Geben Sie mir Ihre legitimationspapiere.'
