'It couldn't be helped.
I'll tell your aunt when I send the telegram that it wasn't your fault.'
Presently she stopped crying.
Howard undid one of his many parcels of food and they all had a bit of an orange to eat, and all troubles were forgotten.
The train went slowly, stopping at every station and occasionally in between.
From Dijon to Tonnerre is seventy miles; they pulled out of that station at about half-past eleven, three hours after leaving Dijon.
The children had stood the journey pretty well so far; for the last hour they had been running up and down the corridor shouting, while the old man dozed uneasily in a corner of the compartment.
He roused after Tonnerre, and fetched them all back into the carriage for dejeuner of sandwiches and milk and oranges.
They ate slowly, with frequent distractions to look out of the window.
Sandwiches had a tendency to become mislaid during these pauses, and to vanish down between the cushions of the seats.
Presently they were full.
He gave them each a cup of milk, and laid Sheila down to rest on the seat, covered over with the blanket he had bought in Dijon.
He made Rose and Ronnie sit down quietly and look at Babar; then he was able to rest himself.
From Tonnerre to Joigny is thirty miles.
The train was going slower than ever, stopping for long periods for no apparent reason.
Once, during one of these pauses, a large flight of aeroplanes passed by the window, flying very high; the old man was shocked to hear the noise of gunfire, and to see a few white puffs of smoke burst in the cloudless sky far, far below them.
It seemed incredible, but they must be German.
He strained his eyes for fighters so far as he could do without calling the attention of the children from their books, but there were no fighters to be seen.
The machines wheeled slowly round and headed back towards the east, unhindered by the ineffective fire.
The old man sank back into his seat, full of doubts and fears.
He was dozing a little when the train pulled into Joigny soon after one o'clock.
It stood there in the station in the hot sunlight, interminably.
Presently a man came down the corridor.
'Descendez, monsieur,' he said.
'This train goes no farther.'
Howard stared up at him dumbfounded.
'But - this is the Paris train?'
'It is necessary to change here.
One must descend.'
'When will the next train leave for Paris?'
'I do not know, monsieur.
That is a military affair.'
He got the children into their coats, gathered his things together, and presently was on the platform, burdened with his luggage, with the three children trailing after him.
He went straight to the station-master's office.
There was an officer there, a capitaine des transports.
The old man asked a few straight questions, and got straight answers.
'There will be no more trains for Paris, monsieur.
None at all.
I cannot tell you why, but no more trains will run north from Joigny.'
There was a finality in his tone that brooked no argument.
The old man said: 'I am travelling to St Malo, for England, with these children.
How would you advise me to get there?'
The young officer stared at him.
'St Malo?
That is not the easiest journey, now, monsieur.'
He thought for a moment.
'There would be trains from Chartres... And in one hour, at half-past two, there is an autobus for Montargis... You must go by Montargis, monsieur.
By the autobus to Montargis, then to Pithiviers, from Pithiviers to Angerville, and from Angerville to Chartres.
From Chartres you will be able to go by train to St Malo.'
He turned to an angry Frenchwoman behind Howard, and the old man was elbowed out of the way.