Wearied by this constant changing of camp, I made up my mind to go far enough in this next move to be able to really rest for a day or so.  Consulting my map, I discovered Jouyle-Chatel to be at what I judged a safe distance—­nearly thirty kilometres and considerably south of Paris.  The afternoon was still young, so we would have time to make the town before dark.  At any rate, I told George to accompany me and explained that he and I would ride ahead full speed, and arrange for beds and a dinner by the time the others should arrive.  They were instructed not to let the dark halt them, but to come on.  Secretly I hoped that this would be our last stretch and that we would be able to remain at Jouy until it was wise to start homeward.

It was an uneventful trip from Choisy to Jouy.  The roads were excellent, though very undulating and the only incident that marked our journey was an intoxicated individual who jumped across our path and, putting his hand on my handle bar, demanded tearfully what I had done with his wife and children.

I declared myself innocent in the matter, which angered him considerably.

“Now I know you’re a spy!  Get down—­” George did not give him time to finish the phrase, but with a well-measured blow, sent him sprawling in the brambled ditch and we beat a hasty retreat without looking back.

It was night by the time we reached Jouy, and at the entrance of the city I enquired for the best hotel.

“Le Grand Turc—­but the proprietress is closing up, making ready to leave.”

“What!  Here?  You don’t mean to say the scare has reached this place, too?”

“Well, we’ve had so many refugees these days that the women got frightened and want to go.”

George and I parted company, he to see what he could find since the best hotel was denied us, and I, undaunted, started off to try to persuade the proprietress to let us in.

After much rattling at the door handles and pounding on the shutters, an acrid female voice enjoined me to be gone.

“I’m closing up and leaving.”

“Leaving?  What for?”

“To escape the Germans!”

“How foolish!  They’ll never reach here.  I’ve just come from the Marne and expected to find board and lodgings for my staff until the war is over.”

That encouraged her and cracking the door, she put her head out.

“I belong to the Red Cross.  Here’s my badge and my carte didentite.  Don’t you think you could find room for me?”

“Well, we’re packing up, but we’ll have to wait for our horses, which are at a farm seven miles from here.  The farmer said he’d come if there was any danger.”

“Well, you see there isn’t or he’d be here by now.”

My hostess seemed convinced and opening the door a little wider, let me pass.

“How many of you are there?”

“Fourteen.”

“Good heavens!  Fourteen rooms?  Never!”