The old man beat down his irritation; they were only children.
He said in French: 'If you speak English I'll find a little frog to put into your mouth.'
Rose said: 'Oo - to hear what monsieur has said!
A little frog!
It would be horrible, that.'
In mixed laughter and apprehension they went on talking in French.
The field hospital was on the far side of the church.
As they went towards it every German soldier that they passed smiled at them mechanically, a set, expressionless grin.
When the first one did it the children stopped to stare, and had to be herded on.
After the first half-dozen they got used to it.
One of the men said:
'Bonjour, mes enfants.'
Howard muttered quietly. 'Bonjour, m'sieur,' and passed on.
It was only a few steps to the hospital tent; the net was very close around him now.
The hospital consisted of a large marquee extending from a lorry.
At the entrance a lance-corporal of the medical service, a Sanitatsgefreiter, stood idle and bored, picking his teeth.
Howard said to Rose: 'Stay here and keep the children with you.'
He led the little boy up to the tent.
He said to the man in French: 'The little boy is wounded.
A little piece of plaster or a bandage, perhaps?'
The man smiled, that same fixed, mirthless smile.
He examined the child deftly.
'So!' he said.
'Kommen Sie - entrez.'
The old man followed with the child into the tent.
A dresser was tending a German soldier with a burnt hand; apart from them the only other occupant was a doctor wearing a white overall.
His rank was not apparent.
The orderly led the child to him and showed him the wound.
The doctor nodded briefly.
Then he turned the child's head to the light and looked at it, expressionless.
Then he opened the child's soiled clothes and looked at his chest.
Then, rather ostentatiously, he rinsed his hands.
He crossed the tent to Howard.
'You will come again,' he said in thick French.
'In one hour,' he held up one finger.
'One hour.'
Fearing that he had not made himself understood he pulled out his watch and pointed to the hands.
'Six hours.'
'Bien compris,' said the old man.
'A six heures.'
He left the tent, wondering what dark trouble lay in store for him.
It could not take an hour to put a dressing on a little cut.
Still there was nothing he could do.
He did not dare even to enter into any long conversation with the German; sooner or later his British accent must betray him.
He went back to the children and led them away from the tent.
Earlier in the day - how long ago it seemed! - Sheila had suffered a sartorial disaster, in that she had lost her knickers.
It had not worried her or any of the children, but it had weighed on Howard's mind.
Now was the time to rectify that omission.
To ease Ronnie's longings they went and had a look at the German tanks in the Place; then, ten minutes later, he led them to a draper's shop not far from the field hospital.
He pushed open the door of the shop, and a German soldier was at the counter.