The meal passed in silence in both rooms, and the “washing up” was done in no time.  Then as they all retired to take their naps, the man who had first asked me if they might turn into the chateau, and who seemed to be the leader of the party, came into the kitchen and, hat in hand, begged a word or so with me.

He had come not only to express the gratitude of his compatriots, but also his astonishment that I should welcome strangers so cordially.  I tried to side-track the conversation which was very embarrassing, but he would hear none of it.

“We are not gypsies, you know, Madame.”  I smiled and told him that that was more than evident.  “Look at our horses and our dogs!” And the good fellow proceeded to inform me that he was the keeper of a big estate that belonged to Madame Pyrme (sister of the senator of that name), situated in the little village of Hanzinell, Belgium.  He even offered to show his papers, but I shook my head.  His open-hearted sincerity and frank countenance were sufficient.

But why had they come away?  That was what interested me.

Because their country was invaded and one by one the towns and villages had been bombarded, looted and burned until little or nothing remained.  Because all men under fifty were carried away as hostages or prisoners; because he had seen little children slain, and young girls tortured; because anything was better than falling helpless into the hands of such an enemy.

“Madame, at Charleroi I’ve seen the blood running in the gutters like rain after a storm and that not a week ago!”

It was impossible not to believe him.  His eye was not that of a coward.  He told his story simply; he was almost reticent, and I had even to encourage him at times to make him finish a phrase.  Finally I asked him where he intended going, and why so far away.  Didn’t he think he was safe here?

No—­jamais! Yesterday in the night they had heard the cannon growing closer and closer.  They knew the sound.  The Germans were advancing.  It was Paris they wanted and nothing would stop them till they reached their goal.

“Except the French army,” I said, with pride.

“God grant you speak the truth, Madame!” But in the meantime he seemed to consider that one was far safer in the way of some gigantic mowing-machine than on the path of the German army.  He had come to tell me the truth and to warn me that I ought to make ready to leave.

“You are helpless here, Madame.  Three women, three little girls, and two boys!  It’s tempting fate.”

I couldn’t seem to see it his way, however.  The papers though very mysterious, had given us no cause for alarm.  As yet we had not seen a single trooper.  If it were true that the French were retreating we would leave when the army appeared.  That would be time enough.

“Why, my good fellow,” I said reassuringly, “if the Germans ever reach here Paris is doomed—­and the war will be over!”