'Il faut continuer a pied.'
It became apparent to Howard that this was nothing but the ugly truth.
It was about four in the afternoon and Montargis was twenty-five kilometres, say fifteen miles, farther on, nearer to them than Joigny.
They had passed one or two villages on the road from Joigny; no doubt one or two more lay ahead before Montargis.
But there would be no chance of buses starting at these places, nor was there any reasonable chance of a hotel.
It was appalling, but it was the only thing.
He and the children would have to walk, very likely the whole of the way to Montargis.
He went into the wrecked body of the bus and collected their things, the two attache cases, the little suitcase, and the remaining parcels of food.
There was too much for him to carry very far unless the children could carry some of it; he knew that that would not be satisfactory for long.
Sheila could carry nothing; indeed, she would have to be carried herself a great deal of the way.
Ronnie and Rose, if they were to walk fifteen miles, would have to travel light.
He took his burdens back to the children and laid them down on the grass.
It was impossible to take the suitcase with them; he packed it with the things that they could spare most easily and left it in the bus in the faint hope that one day it might somehow be retrieved.
That left the two bulging little cases and the parcels of food.
He could carry those himself.
'We're going to walk on to Montargis,' he explained to the children.
The bus won't go.'
'Why not?' asked Ronnie.
'There's something the matter with the engine.'
'Oh - may I go and see?'
Howard said firmly: 'Not now.
We're just going to walk on.'
He turned to Rose.
'You will like walking more than riding in the bus, I know.'
She said: 'I did feel so ill.'
'It was very hot.
You're feeling better now?'
She smiled.
'Oui, monsieur.'
They started out to walk in the direction of Montargis.
The heat of the day was passing; it was not yet cool, but it was bearable for walking.
They went very slowly, limited by the rate at which Sheila walked, which was slow.
The old man strolled patiently along.
It was no good worrying the children with attempts to hurry them; they had many miles to cover and he must let them go at their own pace.
Presently they came to the place where the second load of bombs had dropped.
There were two great craters in the road, and three more among the trees at the verge.
There had been a cart of some sort there. There was little crowd of people busy at the side of the road; too late, he thought to make a detour from what he feared to let the children see.
Ronnie said clearly and with interest:
'Are those dead people, Mr Howard?'
He steered them over to the other side of the road.
'Yes,' he said quietly.
'You must be very sorry for them.'
'May I go and see?'
'No,' he said.
'You mustn't go and look at people when they're dead.
They want to be left alone.'
'Dead people do look funny, don't they, Mr Howard?'
He could not think of what to say to that one, and herded them past in silence.
Sheila was singing a little song and showed no interest; Rose crossed herself and walked by quickly with averted eyes.
They strolled on at their slow pace up the road.