Always, there will be boats for England at Brest.'
The old man stared at him.
'But there is a service from St Malo.'
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
'It is very near the Front.
Perhaps there will be only military traffic there.'
He hesitated, and then said: 'It seems that the sales Bodies have crossed the Seine, near Rheims.
Only a few, you understand.
They will be easily thrown back.'
He spoke without assurance.
Howard said quietly: 'That is bad news.'
The man said bitterly: 'Everything to do with this war is bad news.
It was a bad day for France when she allowed herself to be dragged into it.'
He turned and went downstairs.
Howard followed him, and got from the restaurant a jug of cold milk and a few little plain cakes for the children and, as an afterthought, a couple of feet of bread for his own supper.
He carried these things through the crowded hall and up the stairs to his own room, afraid to leave the children very long.
Ronnie was standing at the window, staring out into the street.
'There's lots and lots of camions and motors at the station,' he said excitedly.
'And guns, too.
Real guns, with motors pulling them!
May we go down and see?'
'Not now,' said the old man.
'It's time you were in bed.'
He gave the children their supper of cakes, and milk out of a tooth-glass; Sheila seemed cooler, and drank her milk with very little coaxing.
Then it was time to put Ronnie to bed in the big bed beside his sister.
The little boy asked:
'Where are my pyjamas?'
Howard said. 'At the station.
We'll put you into bed in your shirt for a start, just for fun.
Then I'll go and get your pyjamas.'
He made a game of it with them, and tucked them up carefully one at each side of the big bed, with a bolster down the middle.
'Now you be good,' he said.
'I'm just going to get the luggage.
I'll leave the light on.
You won't be afraid?'
Sheila did not answer; she was already nearly asleep, curled up, flushed and tousled on the pillow.
Ronnie said sleepily:
'May we see the guns and the camions tomorrow?'
'If you're good.'
He left them, and went down to the hall.
The restaurant and the cafe were more crowded than ever; in the throng there was no hope at all of getting anyone to help him with the luggage.
He pushed his way to the door and went out into the street, bewildered at the atmosphere of the town, and more than a little worried.
He found the station yard thronged with lorries and guns, with a few light tanks.
Most of the guns were horse-drawn; the teams stood in their harness by the limbers as if ready to move on at any moment.
Around them lorries rumbled in the darkness, with much melodious shouting in the broad tones of the southern French.
The station, again, was thronged with troops.
They covered all the platforms, smoking and spitting wearily, squatting on the dirty asphalt in the half-light, resting their backs against anything that offered.
Howard crossed to the arrival platform and searched painstakingly for his luggage among the recumbent forms.
He found the tin case with his rods and he found the small attache case; the suitcase had vanished, nor could he discover any trace of the registered luggage.
He had not expected any more, but the loss of the suitcase was a serious matter.