And the doctor withdrew with a shrug of his shoulders. Mad with despair we went to the commandant of the camp, Antoinette and I.
"We cannot go. Our sister is ill; we cannot forsake her."
"Why, you must go, you are not ill."
We did not know what saint to pray to; we looked out for help. The mayor of Jouville vainly went to the Kommandantur of Marle to plead our cause:
"All emigrants in good health must go." Such was the answer.
Geneviève tossed about her bed, and protested:
"I want to go; I will go. I will not run aground, as we are reaching the port."
But the doctor, once more consulted, repeated emphatically:
"Impossible, impossible."
"Then allow us to stay too."