Her grandfather looked down doubtfully at the little dog crouched at Lucie’s feet and gazing from one to the other with wistfully questioning eyes.
“He can walk, you know,” Lucie went on beseechingly. “He will be no trouble at all. I shall not need to carry him.”
“But to feed him.”
“He shall have a share of my food.”
“It is a long way, dear child, and we may want for food ourselves.”
“Where is it that we go?”
“To Paris if we can get there. It seems the best place, for there we shall find friends and work to do.”
“And we walk all that distance?”
“Part of the way at least. The trains are not running to this town, for many of the stations and much of the railroad is destroyed. Everything is in confusion.”
Lucie looked from the window to see coming down the street a procession of men, women, children, all sorts of vehicles, each laden with what could be carried.