The girl’s face lighted with enthusiasm.
“Oh, how splendid!” she cried. “How splendid for your brave little country to defy the invader! Bravo, Belgium!”
The woman smiled at her enthusiasm, but shook her head doubtfully.
“I do not know,” she said, simply. “I do not understand these things. I only know that my man has gone, and that I must harvest our grain and cut our winter wood by myself. But will you not enter and rest yourselves?”
“Thank you. And we are very hungry. We have money to pay for food, if you can let us have some.”
“Certainly, certainly,” and the good wife bustled before them into the house.
An hour later, rested, refreshed, with a supply of sandwiches in their pockets, and armed with a rough map drawn from the directions of their hostess, they were ready to set out westward again. She was of the opinion that they could pass safely through Battice, which was off the main road of the German advance, and that they might even secure there a vehicle of some sort to take them onward. The trains, she understood, were no longer running. Finally they thanked her for the twentieth time and bade her good-by. She wished them Godspeed, and stood watching them from the door until they disappeared from view.
They pushed forward briskly, and presently, huddled in the valley below them, caught sight of the gabled roofs of the village. A bell was ringing vigorously, and they could see the people—women and children for the most part—gathering in toward the little church, crowned by its gilded cross. Evidently nothing had occurred to disturb the serenity of Battice.
Reassured, the two were about to push on down the road, when suddenly, topping the opposite slope, they saw a squadron of horsemen, perhaps fifty strong. They were clad in greenish-gray, and each of them bore upright at his right elbow a long lance.
“Uhlans!” cried the girl, and the fugitives stopped short, watching with bated breath.