I looked at Madame Guix.

“Go, Madame Huard, you must.  You owe it to the others.  None of you need me and I can be of service here, so if the sisters will keep me I’ll stay.”

Reluctantly I shook hands with my nurse, and hastened down the steps.  Maitre Baudoin and his wife took leave of me at the comer, and I elbowed my way between the horses of a cavalry regiment, whose riders were sound asleep on the hard cobble pavement beside them.

On the further side of the square noisy rolling sounds told me that the artillery was crossing the city, and mounting a doorstep, I beheld battery after battery of the famous Seventy-fives clattering out of sight over the road we had come by in the morning.  When I got down, I found my way blocked by the 18th Chasseurs a cheval, who, four abreast and lance in hand, were setting out for battle.  They were anything but a beaten army—­most of them were softly humming some popular song, while others were calmly filling their pipes and still others catching forty winks in their saddles.  One or two I noticed wore no caps, and their heads were bound in blood-stained bandages.

There seemed to be no end to them and I was beginning to get anxious about our departure.  Plunging my hand into my coat pocket I touched a piece of stale bread and a bit of chocolate, forgotten since the day before, and hunger having seized me, I began gnawing my crust.

“Say, sister, give us a bite,” called one young chap from his horse as he passed.

“Are you really hungry?”

“You bet!”

Without hesitating I offered my crust.

“Hurray for the girl with the red scarf!” called another.  “Come on with us.  We’ll make room for you.”  “We need a mascot,” and other similar jolly phrases passed from mouth to mouth as gaily the flower of young France went forth to death.

When finally they had disappeared I rushed across the street to find George and Emile (H.’s messenger) engaged in a conversation with the driver of an army supply wagon drawn up within an inch of the bakery steps.  Beside him on the seat sat a huge dragoon, his bead done up in a blood-stained towel.

“We’re lost,” he was explaining.  “Been cut off from our regiment for three days.”

“Poor regiment!” I murmured, and calling the boys, I told Emile to wake the others and come down quickly to help hitch the horses.  He was only gone a second, and I could hear him calling.

“Allons, allons, Madame part de suite.”

Then he reappeared carrying a lantern.

“Where the devil did you get the light?” growled George.

“In their room.”

“Then how in the name of heaven do you expect those people to dress and roll up their belongings in the dark?” I scolded.  “Here, George, go back with the lantern.”

George obeyed orders, and Emile, rather sheepishly, skulked away in the direction of the stable yard.  I heard a sliding door pushed open, followed by a long low whistle, and a second later Emile reappeared, his eyes popping out of his head with astonishment.