He stopped by a cafe and went in, and ordered a Pernod with water.
He took the drink and went and sat down at a table by the wall, and stayed there for some time, staring at the garish advertisements of cordials on the walls.
Things had grown serious.
If he left now, at once, it might be possible to win through to St Malo and to England; if he delayed another thirty-six hours it might very well be that St Malo would be overwhelmed and smothered in the tide of the German rush, as Calais had been smothered, and Boulogne.
It seemed incredible that they could still be coming on so fast.
Surely, surely, they would be checked before they got to Paris?
It could not possibly be true that Paris would fall?
He did not like this evacuation of the railway offices from Paris.
That had an ugly sound.
He could go back now to the hotel.
He could get both the children up and dress them, pay the bill at the hotel, and take them to the station.
Ronnie would be all right.
Sheila - well, after all, she had a coat.
Perhaps he could get hold of a shawl to wrap her up in.
True it was night-time and the trains would be irregular; they might have to sit about for hours on the platform in the night waiting for a train that never came.
But he would be getting the children back to England, as he had promised Cavanagh.
But then, if Sheila should get worse?
Suppose she took a chill and got pneumonia?
If that should happen, he would never forgive himself.
The children were in his care; it was not caring for them if he went stampeding to the station in the middle of the night to start on a long, uncertain journey regardless of their weakness and their illness.
That wasn't prudence. That was... fright.
He smiled a little at himself.
That's what it was, just fright - something to be conquered.
Looking after children, after all, meant caring for them in sickness.
That's what it meant.
It was quite clear.
He'd taken the responsibility for them, and he must see it through, even though it now seemed likely to land him into difficulties that he had not quite anticipated when he first took on the job.
He got up and went back to the hotel.
In the lobby the girl said to him:
'Monsieur has found a car?'
He shook his head.
'I shall stay here till the day after tomorrow.
Then, if the little girl is well, we will go on by train.'
He paused. 'One thing, mademoiselle.
I will only be able to take one little bag for the three of us, that I can carry myself.
If I leave my fishing-rods, would you look after them for me for a time?'
'But certainly, monsieur.
They will be quite safe.'
He went into the restaurant and found a seat for dinner.
It was a great relief to him that he had found a means to place his rods in safety.
Now that that little problem had been solved, he was amazed to find how greatly it had been distressing him; with that disposed of he could face the future with a calmer mind.
He went up to the bedroom shortly after dinner.
The femme de chambre met him in the corridor, the yellow, dingy, corridor of bedrooms, lit only by a low-power lamp without a shade.
'I have made monsieur a bed on the floor,' she said in a low tone.
'You will see.'
She turned away.
That was very kind of you,' he said.
He paused, and looked curiously at her.
In the dim light he could not see very clearly, but he had the impression that she was sobbing.
'Is anything the matter?' he asked gently.