Leon and Emile rode back to say that the road ahead was clear.
"Les Boches," I said, pointing down the hill.
"Come on, you cowards!" yelled my boys defiantly, George brandishing the rifle of my wounded man.
"Oh, Madame, ask the Englishmen for their revolvers. They've got their rifles—that's five of us armed, and Monsieur's revolver makes six! It's almost man to man. Ah, please, Madame!" they implored.
In the excitement of the moment I nearly lost my head and consented. I was worked to such a point that any solution would have seemed a relief. The Britishers saw me put my hand in my pocket.
"No! No!" they pleaded. "You can't—if we're caught you won't be killed—but murdered, tortured! We're the only ones who have a right to fire!"
"But they've been peppering my cart regardless of my sex!"
"That's perhaps their way of waging war, but not ours. Now then, off you go—quickly."
We disappeared behind a clump of trees and tore down the clear road as fast as our horses would carry us. George sneaked back on his wheel to see if our aggressors were following, and came back radiant to announce that after coming halfway up the bill, they had turned about and were cantering to take possession of Jouy—as I had predicted.
"Where's our nearest barracks?" enquired one of the Scotsmen. (I now saw that I had to do with the Scots a little.) We slowed down a little.