"Of course the state of things can't but be a trouble—a great trouble. But sometimes one has to be brave in captivity as well as in fighting. And Napoleon will not be allowed to go on always unchecked. I believe that in time England will make headway against him."
"And if England did do it—and you and I were to be all the while here—not able to help—"
Another distinct break.
"Won't do for us to think about that, Roy."
Roy instinctively changed the subject.
"I don't think mother is sorry that I'm going to Verdun."
"She is not sorry for our sake—any more than I am. I have been wondering what in the world I should do without my friend Roy."
"Den, am I your friend truly?" Roy clutched the young Guardsman's arm. "Would you be sorry if I went?" He read a plain answer in the other's look. "O then I don't mind,—then I'll be glad. I don't care, if you like to have me. I thought I was just a bother. I'd rather be your friend than anybody's." And in the same breath, "I say, when shall we see Mademoiselle de St. Roques?"
"What do you think of lodging in her home? The old people with whom she lives would be glad to let their upstairs floors. Yes, I think we shall do it."
One day later, the passport being still withheld, Roy started, in company with his parents and Denham, on the cold and dismal journey to Verdun. Happily Colonel Baron could afford to travel with some degree of comfort. Many of the unfortunate British détenus were in a far worse case. Having no means of their own to pay for chaise or diligence, they had to go on foot, under the charge of gendarmes, sleeping at night in common jails, with filthy and vermin-invested straw for their beds. Whereas the Colonel managed to secure a large roomy old coach or chariot, which had once belonged to some well-to-do person, probably a nobleman since decapitated. With relays of horses, even though the horses in question were sorry beasts, they made fairly quick advance.