Roy gave a glance of sympathy, which he could not well put into words.
"But to the last she had her Jean. She did not die alone, forsaken and desolate. For that I shall be eternally grateful to ces messieurs—that her last days were in peace."
"I remember now, Jean, you said you would like some day to do something for my father and for Captain Ivor. And this is for them. If they could thank you—"
"M'sieu, if I could thank them—!" interjected Jean. Then again they pressed on in silence. Morning had begun to break, and they plodded forward still. Roy had pleaded for another halt, for the boy was almost at the end of his powers, but Jean refused.
"Courage, m'sieu, courage. But a little further, and we will rest. To stop here, if the gendarmes come, would be fatal. See, the day dawns, and soon they will scour the country round. Courage! A little further yet."
"All right," panted Roy, dragging along his leaden-weighted limbs. "Shall we hide all day?"
"Mais, oui. A little cottage in a wood belongs to a friend of mine, and he has made ready for us. Once there, all will be well. The danger now increases each minute. Can m'sieu increase his speed? M'sieu will soon be able to rest. At nightfall we shall start again, refreshed."
"Will you come with me still? Jean, you are a good fellow!" gasped Roy.
"If I can see m'sieu safe off French ground, then I will let ces messieurs at Verdun know, and it will gladden their hearts."
A few minutes later they entered a wood, and Jean's look of anxiety lessened as the trees closed around them. He consented to a slight relaxation of their speed, though reiterating his "Courage, m'sieu! The worst is done."