"Madame, you are of our party! We must stick together. I've just found a trap here that will take us all. There are four other people already in it, and that will make eight altogether. The driver will take us to Brussels for twelve francs each, with an extra five francs, if we get there safely!"
So I waved good-bye to the little cart with the friendly American, who waved back, as he drove away into the sunlight, shouting, "Good luck!"
"Good luck!"
As I heard that deep-sounding English word come ringing across the flagged old Brabant village, it was as though I realised its meaning for the first time.
"Good luck!"
And my heart clutched at it, and clung to it, searching for strength, as the heart of women—and men too—will do in war time!
CHAPTER XII
DRIVING EXTRAORDINARY
The task of arranging that party in the waggonette was anything but easy.