“Come in, come in, André,” she called anxiously. “And bring in the father. I will give you tea. And then you may talk.”
“My dear boy!” Father Duprey held out his arms
“I must tell you, André,” Father Duprey said, “my news of your family is not too bad. So do not be anxious. However, I do not know where all of them are now. But come into the house.”
After tea was served, the old man sighed deeply. “Now, André,” he said, “to relieve your anxiety as well as I can.
“To begin. The hospital where we left your mother is small. And it is well outside the town of St. Sauveur le Vicomte—in the country, really. The doctors there are good. Your father, Marie, and I waited for some time to get a report from them about your mother.
“At about ten-thirty o’clock, Monday night—that was June 5th—one of the doctors came to tell us that Mme. Gagnon needed only the right medicine and a week or two to get well. That is good news, eh?”
André sighed. “Yes, very good.”
“Ah! another thing.” The priest held up a thin finger. “The Maquis met us exactly on time, at the rendezvous not far from the hospital. And your brave English flyer—Ronald Pitt—ran for it. What a sight! Two of the roughest looking of our Maquis and a nun, racing toward a near-by building. But—well, they got away safely. That was good, no?”
“Wonderful,” André murmured.