She said quietly to him as they walked along:
'You are not angry, Monsieur Howard?
It is better that I should pretend that I am cross.
It is more natural so.'
He said: 'My dear, you have done wonderfully well.'
She said: 'Well, we have got half-way without suspicion.
Tomorrow, at eight in the morning, a train leaves for Brest.
We can go on that as far as Landerneau.'
She told him that the German officer had given them permission to go there.
She produced the ticket he had given to her.
'We must sleep tonight in the refugee hostel,' she said.
'This ticket admits us.
It will be better to go there, m'sieur, like all the others.'
He agreed.
'Where is it?' he enquired.
'In the Cinema du Monde,' she said.
'I have never slept in a cinema before.'
He said: 'Mademoiselle, I am deeply sorry that my difficulties should make you do so now.'
She smiled: 'Ne vous en faites pas,' she said.
'Perhaps as it is under German management it will be clean.
We French are not so good at things like that.'
They gave up their cards at the entrance, pushed their pram inside and looked around.
The seats had all been removed, and around the walls were palliasses stacked, filled with old straw.
There were not many people in the place; with the growing restrictions on movements as the German took over control, the tide of refugees was less than it had been.
An old Frenchwoman issued them with a palliasse and a blanket each and showed them a corner where they could make a little camp apart from the others.
'The little ones will sleep quiet there,' she said.
There was an issue of free soup at a table at the end of the hall, dispensed by a German cook, who showed a fixed, beaming smile of professional good humour.
An hour later the children were laid down to rest.
Howard did not dare to leave them, and sat with his back against the wall, tired to death, but not yet ready for sleep.
Nicole went out and came back presently with a packet of caporal cigarettes.
'I bought these for you,' she said.
'I did not dare to get your Players; it would not be safe, that.'
He was not a great smoker, but touched by her kindness he took one gratefully.
She poured him out a little brandy in a mug and fetched a little water from the drinking fountain for him; the drink refreshed him and the cigarette was a comfort.
She came and sat beside him, leaning up against the wall.
For a time they talked in low tones of their journey, about her plans for the next day.
Then, fearing to be overheard, he changed the subject and asked about her father.
She had little more to tell him than he already knew.
Her father had been commandant of a fon in the Maginot Line not very far from Metz; they had heard nothing of him since May.
The old man said: 'I am very, very sorry, mademoiselle.' He paused, and then he said, 'I know what that sort of anxiety means... very well.
It blackens everything for a long time afterwards.'
She said quietly: 'Yes.
Day after day you wait, and wait.
And then the letter comes, or it may be the telegram, and you are afraid to open it to see what it says.'
She was silent for a minute.
'And then at last you do open it.'
He nodded.
He felt very close to her; they had shared the same experience.
He had waited and waited just like that when John had been missing.
For three days he had waited; then the telegram had come.