“Whatever happens, wait there until I come.  There’s no danger of the Germans reaching Barbizon, I fancy!”

And that is how from nine in the morning until late in the afternoon I sat perched on the front of a British Army Supply truck, much to the amusement of the other Tommy Atkins we encountered in Melun and the neighboring villages.

My officer friends very courteously drove me to the hospital where I learned that my poor wounded chasseur Ballandreau had passed away in the night, and towards five o’clock, when their task was completed, they offered me tea and proposed to drive me to Barbizon.  As we jolted down the hill towards the railway crossing our attention was attracted by a huge gathering of citizens and soldiers, and above the roar of our motor, we could hear the rolling of a drum.  Silence reigned instantly and an officer in uniform in the middle of the group read out a short message from a paper he held in his hand.  What he said we could not hear, but the mad shout of joy that went up when he had finished made us eager to learn the news.  Like lightning “Paris saved—­the Germans retreating” ran from mouth to mouth, and the delirious excitement that seized that crowd was absolutely indescribable.  Young and old, English, and French, peasant and bourgeois, fell on each other’s necks and exchanged a joyous embrace.  The awful tension of the last month was broken and the word victory was uttered by thousands of throats, suddenly grown husky with emotion.

My arrival and the news I bore created a sensation among my servants and the remaining inhabitants of Millet’s famous village.  Barbizon was dead—­literally deserted, for not a single member of that delightful summer colony remained, several hotels were closed, and the others as empty as in the heart of winter.  The proprietress of the Clef d’Or made me a very tempting offer for a sejour, but I judged, and rightly, that since the German retreat had begun, we would best follow on close behind the victorious army, for if we waited until order was restored, patrols would be organized and we who had no papers to identify us would not be allowed to pass.

Before retiring I announced my intention of starting homeward, and the joy that illuminated those anxious faces somewhat calmed my own misgivings, for now that our adventure was safely over, I couldn’t help worrying about the absent.

When I touched my bed, I bethought me of my lodging the night before, and realized that I knew neither the name nor address of the generous person in whose sumptuous domicile I had been so cordially received and graciously cared for.  How and whom was I to thank?

Leon, Emile and a sturdy butcher boy from Charly who had joined the others on the road, had now determined to enlist—­so I could but encourage their patriotic sentiments, and went with them to the recruiting office to furnish proof of their identity.