Where two sandy wood roads crossed, a mounted gendarme halted them and examined their papers.
"My poor child," he said to the girl, shaking his head, "the wounded at Nivelle were taken away during the night. They are fighting there now in the streets."
"In Nivelle streets!" faltered the girl.
"Oui, mademoiselle. Of the carillon little remains. The Boches have been shelling it[pg 199] since daylight. Turn again. And it is better that you turn quickly, because it is not known to us what is going on in that wooded district over there. For if they get a foothold in Nivelle on this drive they might cross this road before evening."
The girl sat grief-stricken and silent in the cart, staring at the woods ahead where the road ran through taller saplings and where, here and there, mature trees towered.
All around them now the increasing thunder rolled and echoed and shook the ground under them. Half a dozen gendarmes came up at a gallop. Their officer drew bridle, seized the donkey's head and turned animal and cart southward.
"Go back," he said briefly, recognizing Burley and returning his salute. "You may have to take your mules out of Sainte Lesse!" he added, as he wheeled his horse. "We are getting into trouble out here, nom de Dieu!"
Maryette's head hung as the donkey jogged along, trotting willingly because his nose was now pointed homeward.
The girl drove with loose and careless rein[pg 200] and in silence; and beside her sat Burley, his troubled gaze always reverting to the despondent form beside him.
"Too bad, little girl," he said. "But another time our wounded shall listen to your carillon."