Someone was saying, in French, “Wake up, André. Wake up! The Invasion has started.”
André opened his eyes and saw Victor Lescot bent over him.
“Shame on you, André,” he scolded. “Milk getting sour. War going on all around, and you sleeping.”
André sat up. “You’re supposed to be shut up in your house, Victor. What are you doing here?” he said crossly.
“I can’t stay home now,” Victor bristled. “I’ve got to go get my new cart—before it is destroyed.”
Now wide awake, André said with disgust, “You can’t go out into the fighting.”
“But I must,” Victor interrupted shrilly. “My new cart will be blown to bits if I leave it at Jacquard’s. Then what?”
André could not believe his ears. “Would you rather be blown to bits yourself?” he demanded.
“But we do not need to thrust ourselves into danger,” Victor protested. “We’ll make our way to Jacquard’s village by the cowpaths, you and I. We know them well, eh?”
“WE?” André echoed. “Who’s going with you?”