As he and Victor drew nearer St. Sauveur, André began to notice that the sound of firing came from many directions. He turned his eyes from north to south and counted several rising pillars of smoke. Sometimes the ground shuddered and rocked the cart.
“It will not be easy to enter the city,” he thought.
But after he and Victor had talked a minute, Victor agreed to let him go.
“However, you must use good sense,” Victor said, as André climbed down from the cart. “Do not approach a single German, even if he looks kindly. You must recall that not all Nazis are like our Papa Schmidt.”
After this good advice, he added, “You are quite right to seek your mother. I shall no doubt get along without you well enough.”
With this, he clacked the reins and drove off.
André and Patchou skirted the jumbled rubble that had once been the village of Pont l’Abbé. They continued on through bypaths and across fields.
“If you stay close to me, you may walk,” André told Patchou. Patchou trotted along obediently, his trembling shoulder pressed tightly against André’s leg.
André looked at the skyline ahead. As he stared, new blazes broke out. Billowing smoke hung over St. Sauveur beyond the hills. After a moment he realized that the city was being bombarded by big guns.
“We may as well get as close to Maman as we can,” he murmured. “Come along, Patchou.” He could see a file of soldiers, hugging the roadside and straggling toward the city.