Want of words to express our fears and distress sealed our lips as we picked our way into a filthy, can-strewn, bottle-littered courtyard, towards a wing of the chateau where I had chosen to sleep.
I hardly know what we plodded through the corridor. My companion pushed things, into heaps in one corner of the room, and when I saw him sweep off a mattress and throw his blanket upon it, I realized that my bed was made.
"You are not afraid, Madame?"
"No."
"Then a demain. I will come and help you. I fear, however, that I must leave you in darkness, for there are no matches in the village. We have to borrow light for our fires, and our stock of candles is nearly gone. They are only the butts the Germans left behind!"
Exhausted I fell asleep, to be awakened with a start towards dawn by the clatter of horses' feet on the paved court beneath my window.
Cavalry?
I listened.
Yes, surely. But what cavalry? Ours?
Curiosity got the better of me, and I put my head out of the empty sash to behold a most pathetic sight. There in the pouring rain stood some twenty shivering horses, once fine animals' but now wounded and broken. The lamentable little group, left-behinds of the invaders, was headed by my old gray donkey, who had gathered them together and was now leading them towards warmth and shelter. This sympathy among animals moved me deeply, and I started down to see what I could do to alleviate their suffering.