had no intention of leaving my home and all the
souvenirs of my life without making every effort I could to save them up
to the last moment. In addition to that, I could not see myself joining
that throng of homeless refugies on the road, if I could help it.

"But," she insisted, "you cannot save your house by staying. We are in
the same position. Our house is full of all the souvenirs of my
father's family. It is hard to leave all that--but I am
afraid--terribly afraid for the children."

I could not help asking her how she proposed to get away. So far as I
knew there was not a carriage to be had.

She replied that we could start on foot in the direction of Melun, and
perhaps find an automobile: we could share the expense. Together we
could find a way, and what was more, that I could share my optimism and
courage with them and that would help.

That made me laugh, but I didn't think it necessary to explain to her
that, once away from the shelter of my own walls, I should be just as
liable to a panic as any one else, or that I knew we should not find a
conveyance, or, worse still, that her money and her jewels would hardly
be safe inside her corset if she were to meet with some of the Uhlans
who were still about us.

Amelie had not allowed me to carry a sou on me, nor even my handbag
since we knew they were here. Such things as that have been hidden-all
ready to be snatched up--ever since I came home from Paris last
Wednesday--only four days ago, after all!

Poor Mile. Henriette went away sadly when she was convinced that my
mind was made up.

"Good-bye," she called over the hedge. "I seem to be always taking
leave of you."

I did not tell Amelie anything about this conversation. What was the
good? I fancy it would have made no difference to her. I knew pretty
well to what her mind was made up. Nothing in the world would have made
Pere budge. He had tried it in 1870, and had been led to the German
post with a revolver at his head. He did not have any idea of repeating
the experience. It was less than half an hour later that Mile.
Henriette came up the hill again. She was between tears and laughter.

"Mother will not go," she said. "She says if you can stay we must. She
thinks staying is the least of two evils. We can hide the babies in the
cave if necessary, and they may be as safe there as on the road."

I could not help saying that I should be sorry if my decision influenced
theirs. I c