Grigge shuffled along in the dust that reminded him of the highway in Pigeon Valley. He thought of the croak of the frogs at night in the brook that ran along the back of the meadow behind the huts. He thought of the black bread that he had always eaten, and of the low-ceilinged, one-roomed hut that was his home. He had never meant anything to these people who awaited him in the lonely barn. Not one of them at Les Vignes, except the Little Mademoiselle, had ever given him more than a passing nod. All that he had done for them was because of Dian, but he had expected to taunt them with it, to humiliate them as they had so often, perhaps unthinkingly, humiliated him. He had thought that it would be fun to tease them, to tell them that the plan had fallen through and that there would be no possibility of the others reaching them; but he had not done any of these things, and as he walked along the quiet road that lovely May night, he felt closer to the sheltering greenness and the peaceful, drifting wind than he had ever felt before.
When he came within the region of the barn he dropped to his knees and crawled slowly through the dark underbrush. It would never do for a late passer-by on the road to Calais to see him going to the barn, which was so unusually isolated, half hidden by brush and trees. It was a remarkable hiding place.
Cécile met him, having slid back the door when she heard his faint rap. The main part of the barn was lighted by three lanthorns which hung from the ceiling, but the light was dim, and there was a thick blanket hung across the one window, so that no glimmer could reach the fields beyond.
“I delivered the letter. He’s to wait every night by the willow woods. He says this Humphrey Trail’s his best friend. He’s safe. He won’t desert you.” There was a kinder tone in Grigge’s voice, for something in the eager way they listened to him touched him.
Madame le Pont said, “Thank God.”
Cécile shut her eyes for a moment and then she said:
“They will come. I know they are safe. We had word that they were going to try to get through. That blessed cross-eyed Champar sent the message to us.” Cécile turned and put her arms about Denise who had come close to her. “We’ll see them, chérie, soon,” she whispered. Denise could only sob on Cécile’s shoulder. She at last was learning what it was to be in a revolution.
Hortense touched Grigge’s arm. “There is some supper here for you, an omelette that I’m cooking. It’s made with two of the eggs you brought us yesterday. Proté has taught me to cook it, and I want you to say it’s good!” She spoke in a friendly way, and nothing could have showed plainer than her manner how they were all learning to know one another and to help. It was necessary that they keep occupied, and Hortense and Proté had many a laugh over the former’s attempt at cooking. Bertran was the greatest problem, for he was determined to go out, and they trembled that he would in some way, in spite of his disguise, make trouble by causing suspicion. The days had gone by and they had not seen a living soul but themselves. Grigge had gone away every morning and stayed away all day, searching for Anastasius Grubb, whom at last he had found, and who had promised them his aid when the dear ones from Paris should come.
And the wayfarers—they who had come through the gates of Paris, through danger so great that it had seemed a simple thing to take one’s chance at once and without question when it came one’s way—where were they? They were thundering through the countryside, sometimes on the main highroad, but mostly through back lanes and untraveled pasture roads. The cart bumped about so much that their very heads whirled and they had to hold on just as hard as they could. They became so exhausted that they fell asleep in spite of themselves and their excitement. They ate what was given them by Champar and Dian, swallowing their food with dry lips and throats. Always there was the dread of meeting advancing outposts of the army. Once they had to hide, coach and all, for a day and part of a night in a copse in the woods.
One morning Champar turned to them, his eye cocked severely.