Mons. Du Bois hesitated. “You are very kind, my friend,” he said at last. “It is not I who need the lift, but if you could take these valises a short distance it would ease my old back. In my soldiering days I could carry a much heavier weight. I tried in vain to hire some sort of conveyance, but everything was spoken for. My youthful strength has forsaken me, I fear.”
“I can make room for you,” insisted the man.
“Not for me, but for my granddaughter, perhaps.”
“Then mademoiselle?” The man turned to Lucie.
She shook her head. “No, no, I am young and strong. I prefer it should be my grandfather. We can travel along slowly, grandpère, and meet you farther on, by nightfall.”
“We shall not be traveling very fast with our load,” said the driver, “and we shall not more than make the next village where is the station. It was still untouched from last reports and I hope one can travel by rail the rest of the way. Come, monsieur, better mount the cart.”
Mons. Du Bois argued still further, but at last consented to accept the man’s kind offer. The old man was very weary and that wound which he had received in his soldiering days still gave him discomfort.
“We can relieve you a little of your load, too, my good woman,” the man told Paulette. “Let us have one of those heavy baskets.” Nothing loath Paulette handed up a basket, and the wagon moved on, the two sturdy horses quite equal to the added weight.
The Le Bruns, whom at first they had outdistanced, passed them some time before, Mons. Le Brun having been able to persuade the man with the ramshackle carriage, for a goodly sum, to take them in, although it seemed as if any moment the carriage might break down or the horse give out, so many were the passengers. Annette had waved her hand as they drove past.
“Are you going to Paris?” asked Lucie.