It was then very late in the afternoon.
They followed a country road, and passing several wayfarers, the appearance of the Terror caused them the most intense astonishment.
A few miles along the road they caught sight of an old fellow in a wagon loaded with grain.
He looked like a farmer.
There was no horse hitched to the vehicle.
But the shafts were broken and to the stumps there yet clung the remains of a broken harness.
The old fellow was the picture of despair.
He sat on top of his load, a whip in his hand and a big, red bandana handkerchief in the other with which he was vigorously mopping his forehead.
Fritz was steering the Terror.
Observing the forlorn countryman he burst out laughing.