“I’ll ask him,” André decided. “Wait, please.”
“I will wait.”
Victor sat impatiently in the cart and polished his glasses while André raced across the field.
Ten minutes later André was back. Raoul had agreed. And La Fumée was plodding steadily toward Ste. Mère and the clatter and shriek of gunfire. Crouching under a blanket at André’s feet lay Patchou.
The Gagnon house stood silently empty for the first time in weeks.
About noon a black motorcycle rolled to a stop beside the Gagnon pump. Marie, in dark slacks and a man’s cap similar to the driver’s, dismounted.
“The house looks empty, Leon,” she said, alarm in her voice.
She pushed open the door and called, “André.” There was no answer as she entered the empty hallway.
Hurriedly, she ran through the house in a panic, and returned to the door.