“No,” Annette called back. “We are going to my grandmother’s sister. She will be glad to take us in.”
It was something to know where Annette was going, Lucie thought, although she would turn aside a little later on, and her destination was nowhere near Paris. It must be to Victor’s home they were going. It was a pity that Pom Pom could not have gone with them, Lucie reflected.
She continued to plod stolidly along with Paulette. They spoke little. It took all their energies to keep up the steady pace. Finally Lucie found herself saying over dully: “At the next village we shall meet grandfather and take the train.” Evidently the same thought was in Paulette’s mind, for she turned after a while to say: “It cannot be much farther, little one. By sundown we should arrive.”
“Where do we sleep, Paulette?”
“Who knows? There must be some spot. No doubt Monsieur will arrange for that before we come. There is no question but we shall sleep well.”
This was comforting and spurred Lucie’s lagging tread to a brisker one. Pom Pom toiled patiently along behind her. Once in a while he stopped short, looked back, then took up his line of march, his eyes fixed steadfastly upon the track of his mistress.
At last as the sun was setting they heard a shout ahead, then a confused murmur of voices raised high in a clamor of discontent.
“What can it be, Paulette?” cried Lucie, stopping short.
“We shall see,” Paulette answered laconically.
They went on a little farther, reaching a slight rise in the road. Paulette stood still, shaded her eyes and looked toward the village of their destination. “Mon Dieu!” she exclaimed, “there is no more a station,” for beyond them were shattered walls, torn tracks, smoking ruins.