The orderly saw him coming.
'Wait here,' he said.
'I will tell the Herr Oberstabsarzt.'
The man vanished into the tent.
The old man stood waiting at the entrance patiently.
The warm sun was pleasant now, in the cool of the evening.
It would have been pleasant to stay free, to get back to England.
But he was tired now, very, very tired.
If only he could see the children right, then he could rest.
There was a movement in the tent, and the doctor was there, leading a child by the hand.
It was a strange, new child, sucking a sweet.
It was spotlessly clean, with short cropped hair trimmed close to its head with clippers. It was a little boy.
He wore a yellow jersey and a pair of brown shorts, socks, and new shoes.
The clothes were all brand new, and all seemed vaguely familiar to the old man.
The little boy smelt very strong of yellow soap and disinfectant.
He wore a clean white dressing on his neck.
He smiled at the old man.
Howard stared at him, dumbfounded.
The doctor said genially;
'So!
My orderly has given him a bath.
That is better?'
The old man said: 'It is wonderful, Herr Doktor.
And the clothes, too.
And the dressing on his neck.
I do not know how to thank you.'
The doctor swelled visibly.
'It is not me that you must thank, my friend,' he said with heavy geniality.
'It is Germany!
We Germans have come to bring you peace, and cleanliness, and the ordered life that is true happiness.
There will be no more war, no more wandering for you now.
We Germans are your friends.'
'Indeed,' the old man said faintly, 'we realise that, Herr Doktor.'
'So,' said the man, 'what Germany has done for this boy, she will do for France, for all Europe.
A new Order has begun.'
There was rather an awkward silence.
Howard was about to say something suitable, but the yellow jersey caught his eye, and the image of the woman in the shop came into his mind and drove the words from his head.
He stood hesitant for a minute.
The doctor gave the child a little push towards him.
'What Germany has done for this one little Dutchman she will do for all the children of the world,' he said.
'Take him away.
You are his father?'
Fear lent speed to the old man's thoughts.
A half-truth was best.
'He is not mine,' he said.
'He was lost and quite alone in Pithiviers.
I shall take hun to the convent.'
The man nodded, satisfied with that.
'I thought you might be Dutch yourself,' he said.
'You do not speak like these French.'