When they had passed the shattered staging of the past they came out upon the country which had been occupied by Germans but not by warfare. Here the fields, uncultivated, had grown wild, but round the sparse villages little patches of ground had been dug and sown. Not a cow grazed anywhere, not a sheep or a goat. No hens raced wildly across village streets. Far ahead on the white ribbon of road a black figure toiled in the gutter, and Fanny debated with herself: "Might I offer a lift?"
Looking ahead she saw no village or cottage within sight, and with a murmured apology to the Russian she pulled up beside the old woman whom she had overtaken.
"Where are you going?"
"To Briey."
"We, too. Get in, madame."
The Russian made no comment. The old crone, knuckled, hard-breathing, climbed in, holding uncertainly to the windscreen and pulling after her her basket and umbrella.
"Cover yourself, madame," ordered Fanny, as to a child, and handed her a rug.
"I have never been in an auto before," whispered the old creature against a wind which made her breathless. "I have seen them pass."
"You are not afraid?"
"Oh, no!"