“If you do, where’ll you be?”
“Milicent’s kept our room in the pension on the Rue des Saints Pères. I’ll be with her again, I think.”
“All right! Look out for yourself!”
“You try to, too!”
She kept the car standing a few seconds longer watching him while, with his arm about the old man’s shoulder, he hobbled toward the flying field. Several minutes later, when she was far down the road, she gazed back, and saw a combat biplane rise from the field with what seemed to be particular impatience, and she imagined that he was piloting that machine. She had passed now from the zone of the broken front, where all the effort was to throw men—any number and any sort of men—across the path of the victorious German advance to the region of retreat, where every sinew and every sense was strained in the attempt to get men, and guns, and supplies out of the area of envelopment by the enemy. And dreadful and appalling as it had been to witness men—too few men and unsupported—moving forward to immolate themselves in hopeless effort to stay that German advance, yet it had not been so terrible to Ruth as this sight and sound of retreat. For the sound—the beat of feet upon the road, the ceaseless tramp of retreating men, the rumble of guns and combat trains going back, then the beat, beat, beat of the retreat—continued into the darkness, when Ruth no longer could see the road from the little house where she rested. All through the night it continued till it seemed to Ruth, not something human, but a cataclysm of nature flowing before a more mighty catastrophe which no one and nothing could stop.
Whenever she awoke she heard it; and through the dreams which harassed the heavy periods of her stupor of exhaustion which served that night for sleep, that beat of the feet throbbed and throbbed.
Ruth reached Montdidier at noon of the next day. It was at Montdidier, accordingly, that she first learned the true magnitude of the disaster and first heard openly spoken what had been said only in part before; and that was that the fate of France and of the allied cause depended now upon the Americans. If they could not quickly arrive in great force and if, having arrived, they proved unable to fight on even terms with the Germans, all was lost. France would not yet give up, in any case; England would hold on; but, without America, they were beaten.
And during that day, and through the next, and the next, while Ruth was unable to leave Montdidier, the disaster grew until it was known that the British Fifth Army, as an organized force, had ceased to exist and the Germans, in this single great stroke, had advanced thirty-five miles and claimed the capture of thirteen hundred guns and ninety thousand men.
On Monday, as the Germans yet advanced and moved on Montdidier, Ruth was in a column of refugees again; she was obliged to abandon her determined task for the duty of the moment offered to her hands. She got to Compiègne and there was delayed. Roye, Noyon, Montdidier all now were taken; and the wounded from that southern flank of the salient which thrust west toward Amiens were coming back upon Compiègne; and no man yet could say that the disaster was halted.
But Foch had come to the command.