Rose went barefoot as a matter of course; as a concession to the English children presently Howard let them take off stockings, though he made them keep their shoes on.
He took off Pierre's stockings too.
The little boy seemed a trifle more natural, though he was still white and dumb.
He had the whistle clutched tight in his hand and it still worked; now and again Sheila tried to get it away from him, but Howard had his eye on her and put a stop to that.
'If you don't stop bothering him for it,' he said, 'you'll have to put your stockings on again.'
He frowned at her; she eyed him covertly, and decided that he meant it.
From time to time Rose bent towards the little boy in grey.
'Siffle, Pierre,' she would say.
'Siffle pour Rose.'
At that he would put the whistle to his lips and blow a little thin note.
'Ah, c'est chic, ca.'
She jollied him along all morning, smiling shyly up at Howard every now and then.
They went very slowly, making not more than a mile and a half in each hour.
It was no good hurrying the children, Howard thought.
They would reach Montargis by evening, but only if the children took their own pace.
At about ten in the morning firing broke out to the north of them.
It was very heavy firing, as of guns and howitzers; it puzzled the old man.
It was distant, possibly ten miles away or more, but definitely to the north, between them and Paris.
He was worried and perplexed.
Surely it could not be that the Germans were surrounding Paris to the south?
Was that the reason that the train had stopped at Joigny?
They reached a tiny hamlet at about ten o'clock, a place that seemed to be called La Croix.
There was one small estaminet which sold a few poor groceries in a side room that was a little shop.
The children had been walking for three hours and were beginning to tire; it was high time they had a rest.
He led them in and bought them two long orange drinks between the four of them.
There were other refugees there, sitting glum and silent.
One old man said presently, to no one in particular:
'On dit que les Boches ont pris Paris.'
The wizened old woman of the house said that it was true.
It had said so on the radio.
A soldier had told her.
Howard listened, shaken to the core.
It was incredible that such a thing could happen. Silence fell on the room again; it seemed that no one had any more to say.
Only the children wriggled on their chairs and discussed their drink.
A dog sat in the middle of the floor scratching industriously; snapping now and then at flies.
The old man left them and went through into the shop.
He had hoped to find some oranges, but no oranges were left, and no fresh bread.
He explained his need to the woman, and examined the little stock of food she had; he bought from her hah0 a dozen thick, hard biscuits each nine or ten inches in diameter and grey in colour, rather like dog-biscuits.
He also bought some butter and a long, brown doubtful-looking sausage.
For his own weariness of the flesh, he bought a bottle of cheap brandy.
That, with four bottles of the orange drink, completed his purchases.
As he was turning away, however, he saw a single box of chocolate bars, and bought a dozen for the children.
Their rest finished, he led them out on the road again.
To encourage them on the way he broke one of the chocolate bars accurately into four pieces and gave it to them.
Three of the children took their portion avidly.
The fourth shook his head dumbly and refused.
'Merci, monsieur,' he whispered.
The old man said gently in French: 'Don't you like chocolate, Pierre?
It's so good.'
The child shook his head.