Dawn was breaking as we reached the summit and pausing for a moment’s breath, we could see people with bundles hurrying from cottages and farm yards, while the fields seemed dotted with horses and carts that sprang out of the semi-darkness like specters, following one another to the highway.  In less than no time the long caravan had re-formed and was again under way.

We brought up the rear, preceded by five hundred snow-white oxen.  There was no way of’ advancing faster than the cortege.  It was stay in line or lose your place, and as the sun rose over the plains, I was so impressed by the magnificence of our procession that I forgot the real cause of our flight and never for an instant realized that I now formed an intimate part of that column which but a few hours since inspired me with such genuine pity.

As we passed through a small agglomeration of houses that one might hardly call a village, I recognized several familiar faces on the doorsteps, and presently comprehended why Charly was so dark and silent the night before.  It was empty—­evacuated—­and the greater part of its inhabitants were here on the roadside, preparing to continue their route.

Where were we going?  I think none of us had a very definite idea.  We were following in line on the only road that crossed this wonderfully fertile country.  The monotony of the landscape, the warmth of the sun, added to the gentle swing of my cart calmed my nerves and I fell back into a heavy sleep.

When I opened my eyes I could hear water running over a dam, and see below me and but a very short distance away, a river flowing through a valley.  Someone said it was the Petit Morin; another announced that we had come seventeen kilometers and a third proffered that it was 6:30 A. M.—­time for breakfast.  We ought not to attack the opposite hill on empty stomachs.

Accordingly we crossed the Petit Morin and broke ranks in front of two little cottages that bordered the river at the entrance of an electric power house.  At the same time, a small covered gig halted beside our big cart and from it descended the mother of the two little girls she who had so much gold.

Did I mind if she followed in our wake?

Of course not.

She was still as timid and frightened as the night before, and it didn’t take much questioning to learn that she had never had a pair of reins in her hands before in her life.

The boys took all the horses down to the river and carefully bathed their knees and legs.  In the meantime, coffee had been found and ground, someone had scurried about and found a house where milk could be had, and on an iron tripod that I had sense enough to bring along, water was set to boiling.

It was very amusing that first picnic breakfast, and my! what appetites we had.  The summer lodgers in one of the cottages gazed upon us in amazement—­all save one little girl who, so it seems, had had a presentiment that some ill would befall her and for two days had not ceased weeping.