As the winter drew on and the snow came their life developed into a mere desperate struggle against hunger and cold. Several times Lisa’s Bavarian friend came stealthily and brought food, but they never knew what the next day might have in store for them. Many of their neighbours had fled, but Gran’père insisted on staying on their land, and indeed they knew of no place whither they might fly.
One day the young Bavarian came very hurriedly and threw a sack of bread upon the table. He could not explain where he had got it; perhaps he had stolen it. But he made them understand that he was ordered away to the west and could not come any more. They were all sad and troubled. Then the soldier picked up little Lisa and kissed her long and tenderly, and shook hands with the rest. Even Gran’père did not refuse him.
“Adieu,” said Mère Marie, “and God bless you!”
“Adieu,” said the soldier in queer-sounding French, and when he went out there were tears in the honest blue eyes.
“He has little ones at home,” said Mère Marie again. “I hope he will get back to them.”
Mère Marie took the bread and hid it and estimated the smallest amount that would keep body and soul together each day. Then they all sat down and waited. There was nothing else to do.
VII
Every night and every morning Mère Marie said her prayers to the Virgin, and at last help came. A strange man who spoke English visited the shack, took their names, and made a note of their condition. Mère Marie had learned a few words of English from some of her customers in the Avenue Louise, and she gathered that he was to bring them something that had been sent in a big ship by kind people from away across the sea who had in some way heard of the plight of Gran’père and Mère Marie and Henri and wee Lisa. So they all waited anxiously for his return.