“En route!” I called, climbing into the charette, a big lump rising in my throat.

“En route!” called George.

Once again I counted our party to be sure all were there, and then slowly the heavy-laden hay-cart pulled out of the courtyard onto the high road.

The first ten steps that my horse took he limped so painfully that my heart sank in my boots.

What nonsense, this departure!  The poor beast would break down and we’d have to shoot him by the wayside, and other similar cheerful thoughts fled through my brain as we jogged up the narrow village street.

In front of the town hall I halted, first of all to rest my steed, secondly to await George and Leon, who had remained behind to shut the entrance doors and bolt the gate, and finally because I was astonished to see all the windows illuminated.

I Jumped down and approaching one of the panes looked through and saw the entire municipal council seated in a semi-circle, their faces grave with anxiety.  Presently the boys, accompanied by H.’s messenger, rode up on their bicycles and handed me the keys.  I entered the room where Mr. Duguey, the schoolmaster and town clerk, greeted me.

“Gentlemen, I’ve come to give you the keys to my estate.  I’ve received a message from my husband begging me to leave at once.”

“Then make haste, Madame, while there is still time.  We are just about to beat the call to arms and warn the population that those who hope to escape must leave at once.  Though we have no official orders to do this we have taken it on ourselves, for we now know for certain that the Uhlans have surrounded the village and are awaiting daylight to take possession.  They are probably bivouacking on the heights in your park.”

Then the old peasant woman had not lied!  Those were really Uhlans she had seen in the bois de la Mazure.  Ye gods, and here I was trying to get away with a lame horse!  Thank heaven, the Marne was not far!  I would cross it and then await developments.

The clock in the little church struck two and an owl hooted mournfully in the belfry as silently our cortege plodded up the steep incline.  When we reached the summit I could not resist turning around and casting a long affectionate glance on my lovely home-shining like a fairy palace in its setting of wonderful trees.  Who could tell?  I might never see it again!

George, too, must have been penetrated with the same sentiment, for he rode up close to the cart and grasping the mud guard, turned on his saddle and wistfully shaking his bead, gave vent to his feelings by the following very inelegant but extremely expressive ejaculation: 

“Quels cochons! vous chasser d’une propriete parcille!”

A long shiver of emotion crept down my spine, and though it was but the second of September I instinctively drew the fur collar of my coat closer about my throat.