Certainly no greasy pig at a county fair was ever more difficult to manage than that long nine-pound loaf of red hot bread.  There was no way of handling it—­it burned everything it touched.  No sooner did I put it under one arm than I was obliged to change it to the other post haste.  Add to this the fact that I had not ridden a bicycle since a child, and realize that whether walking or riding the bread was equally hot and equally cumbersome.  It was too long to fit into the handlebars, besides how could I hold it there?  Too soft to be tied with string that I might buy.  At one moment I thought seriously of picking up my skirt and carrying the bread as peasant women do grass and fodder, but alas, a 1914 skirt was too narrow to permit this.  At length when almost disheartened and I had stood my loaf against the side of a house to cool, I recognized a familiar voice back of me, and George appeared on his wheel to announce that my party had camped in a young orchard two miles outside of Rebais, neither man nor beast being capable of going any farther.  We clapped our loaf into an overcoat that was strapped to the back of his machine, and swinging it between us, soon joined the others.

Our noonday repast was composed of cold bam and fried potatoes.  I think I never ate better, though I must confess that the latter were stolen from a neighboring field.  By two o’clock a dozen weary inhabitants of Villiers were stretched out on their rugs and peacefully dreaming!  We had decided to rest before determining what to do for the night.

I was awakened by a stiff feeling in my neck, and opened my eyes to find that the sun was rapidly disappearing in the west.  I had slept soundly four hours and was much refreshed, though the bumps in the ground had bruised me, and I could hardly move my head.

Yvonne had stood the journey so far very well though unable as yet to walk, but as the cool of the evening came on I began to worry lest a night out of doors set her screaming with pain.  So as I laced my boots, I decided to go back to Rebais and make another desperate attempt to lodge her at least.

“Did Madame see Maitre Baudoin this morning,” asked Leon, to whom I imparted my plans.

I gasped!  What a fool I was!  My mind was so upset that I had forgotten that my own notary was a prominent personality in Rebais.

A quarter of an hour later I turned into the public square and beheld Maitre Baudoin and his wife standing on the doorstep watching the exodus of numerous refugees.

“Madame Huard!” they exclaimed.  “You?  What on earth has happened?”

I explained in a few words.

“Why, come right in.  We were just going to sit down to dinner.”

I said I was not alone, and must first look after the others.  Without waiting a second, Maitre Baudoin crossed over to the town hall and soon returned with a key in his hand.

“Here, here’s the key to a bakery—­there are rooms above.  Your people can lodge there and you come in with us.  All this will be over in a day or so; the news is good to-day.  The Germans will never reach the Marne!”