“Yes,” he said, “but unfortunately, like yourself, I am an exile.”
“Ah, that is sad.” The smile died from her face. “Myself, I left France when I was five. I do not remember it, but always I long to return. But what am I thinking of — you must be hungry after your long journey!”
They hardly had the courage to protest, only Simon, thinking of the difficulties which he knew existed about rationing, began half-heartedly to unpack the cold food from the rucksacks.
She waved it impatiently aside. “I leave you for quarter of an hour, perhaps,” she shrugged, with a typically French gesture, as she resumed her worn furs. “No one will come here — you will be as safe as can be.” Before they could protest she was gone with a smile and a wave of the hand, closing the door softly behind her.
De Richleau stretched his tired legs. “We are in luck,” he said to Simon. “It is certain that we have one guardian angel left between us.”
A slight snore drew their attention. Rex was sound asleep on the sofa. It was the first sleep he had had since he had risen from his bunk in the prison at Tobolsk, little knowing that his friends were near, thirty-six hours before.
“Hope she doesn’t get in a muddle through helping us,” said Simon, thoughtfully.
The Duke took out his automatic, and removing the magazine, began to clean it carefully from the fouling of the morning.
In a very short time the girl returned, bringing with her a basket of eggs. She took down her largest frying-pan, and started to break the eggs into a basin.
Simon questioned her, while Rex snored loudly in the corner. How had she managed to evade the rationing laws?