Mme. Gagnon shook herself and with great dignity stated firmly, “I can walk. Observe your own step, Pierre. You, also, doctor.”
She crossed the shattered porch and went down the steps. Pierre and the doctor raced to help her into the conveyance.
At the slam of the door, M. Angell was prepared, and the car leaped forward through the gates and into the lane.
Pierre gasped for breath. “I hope your home is safe,” he said hoarsely.
“No place is safe today,” the driver retorted over his shoulder, swinging the battered old car expertly around curves.
Braced as well as she could manage, Mme. Gagnon looked out with horror on the countryside.
“My son and my daughter!” she cried. “Could they exist through such warfare as this? I must know, Pierre. It is worse than I imagined.”
The doctor spoke soothingly, but broke off to shout, “Angell. Watch yourself!”
A soldier had stepped out from the shelter of a ditch with upraised hand. “You must detour,” he said in French. “This lane and the road beyond are mined.” He pointed to one side. “Those fields are safe.”
M. Angell muttered and nosed the car cautiously into the pasture. Circling shell holes, rocking over hummocks, he steered toward a shallow depression some distance ahead. After that he forced the car up a rise.