“What were you going to say?” asked Miss Carruthers.

“Well…Oh, no, I can’t. You’d think me…Oh, no.”

“Please say it,” I said.

“Well…if I could travel with you…Georges need not come as far as the coast. He could go straight to Paris and find out about joining the army. I need not go to Aunt Berthe. If I could come with you…if you would help me.”

Annabelinda and I exchanged glances. We should arrive home with a baby, a school mistress and a girl who had been a stranger to us on the previous night. It would be a surprise—I might say a shock—for my parents. But these were unusual times and when tragedies overtook people, one must do all one could to help them. I was sure my parents would understand that.

Annabelinda said, “We could, couldn’t we, Lucinda?”

“Yes, I should think so,” I replied. “Yes, you must travel with us. I’ll take you to my home. We don’t know what is happening there. My mother will surely know someone who needs a maid…that’s if you don’t mind what you do.”

“Do you really mean that?” Andrée asked.

“Of course.”

“I hope there won’t be any difficulty in getting you into England,” Miss Carruthers said. “I don’t know what the regulations are. Wartime, you know, and all that.”

Andrée looked alarmed. Then she said, “I have my papers. I was in England only last year, visiting my aunt. It was all right then.”

“The major will be able to make it right, I’m sure,” said Annabelinda.

Andrée was talking excitedly. “Oh, how can I thank you? I feel so much better. I really couldn’t face Aunt Berthe, and there’s poor Georges. If I could come with you, he could go straight to Paris. It would be such a help to us. I just have a feeling that this is going to work out well for us. We both want a complete change. We want to get away from all that…”

Her voice broke, and we all murmured our understanding and sympathy.

While we were talking, Marcus and Georges came in. They were beaming with pleasure.

“It’s done!” cried Marcus. “It’s all right, thanks to Monsieur Latour.”

“I just found the trouble,” said Georges modestly. “I’ve always enjoyed tinkering with cars.”

“So it is all right for us to leave?” asked Miss Carruthers.

“Absolutely,” replied Marcus. “But look at the time! It’s almost noon. I suggest that we all have a meal here at the inn. We should have to stop for food otherwise…on our way. I’ll tell the landlord.”

Andrée Latour said to her brother, “Georges, I have some wonderful news.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“These kind people are going to allow me to travel with them. And, Georges, I am not going to Tante Berthe. Please don’t try to persuade me to. I have made up my mind. They are going to help me find something I could do….”

“Andrée, you must go to Tante Berthe. You have to. It’s the only thing to do.”

“No, no. Listen. Mademoiselle Greenham and Mademoiselle Denver, they will take me to their home. They will find a place for me. I can work where I want to. I will try anything—anything—rather than go to Tante Berthe. So you see, Georges, you need not come with me to the coast. You can go straight to Paris. I couldn’t bear to go to Tante Berthe. Georges…say you are pleased.”

Georges was looking bewildered. I could understand. He would be leaving his sister with strangers. In ordinary circumstances that would have been out of the question, but these were no ordinary circumstances.

“But…I…I’m sure…” he began.

“It’s all so simple,” I put in. “I’ll take her to my home with us. My mother will be very helpful. She always is. My father is a Member of Parliament and there are always people around. They are certain to know someone who wants help in the house.”

But Georges was still looking uneasy and quite bemused.

We ate a good luncheon and talked a great deal.

I fed Edouard, and afterward Andrée took him onto her lap. To my surprise he did not protest.

“What a good little boy he is!” she commented and kissed the top of his head. Edouard grunted in a manner intended to express approval.

The thought occurred to me that Andrée might help with him. We should have to have a nursery for him and we should need someone there.

I felt as though I were living in a dream. Every little detail seemed of the utmost importance. If the car had not broken down, we would have set out early this morning as we had planned; we would have said good-bye to Georges and Andrée and almost certainly would never have seen them again.

How strange life was! One could never be certain what would happen next—particularly in a situation like this.

There was barely room for Andrée in the car, but we managed. Georges followed us along the road in his own car.

We should be together until he branched off for Paris. Andrée took Edouard from me and sang a little song to him:

“Il pleut, il pleut, bergère,

Presse tes blancs moutons.

Allons à la chaumière,

bergère, vite, allons…”

Edouard, who was beginning to fret, watched her mouth closely as she sang, and a beautiful smile spread over his face.

There was no doubt that he liked Andrée.

There was a tearful scene when we parted from Georges. That dream-like quality had returned. Everything that was happening seemed so extraordinary. Andrée, a stranger this time yesterday, was now one of us.

What would happen next, I wondered?

And so we made our way toward the coast.

We reached Calais in the late afternoon and soon learned that there was no hope of a sailing that night, so we put up at an inn close by the harbor. There was an uneasy atmosphere throughout the town. People looked dismayed and bewildered. We were in a country that had recently been plunged into war. The enemy were making rapid progress through Belgium and were almost at the frontier—a feat they had achieved in a matter of days.

What next? was the question on everyone’s lips.

All through the night I could hear the rhythm of the waves as they rose and fell. Tomorrow, I kept saying to myself, I shall be home.

Marcus was in his usual high spirits. The following morning he went off to assess the situation and to make arrangements to get us out of France as quickly as possible.

He was gone some time, and when he returned, he found us all eagerly awaiting him in the parlor. He told us there were difficulties, but he hoped to sort them out before long. The fact was we could not leave immediately.

All through that day we waited, and by nightfall we were still at the inn.

The next day Marcus went off in the early morning again. He said he might be a while, but he was sure we should be able to sail the next day.

I was surprised to discover that people can get to know each other more thoroughly in such circumstances than in months of conventional living.

I was drawn toward Andrée, largely because she had taken to Edouard, and he to her. She appeared to have a knowledge of the needs of babies. When he cried or had a bout of indigestion, she knew how to soothe him. She would rub his stomach, talking to him as she did so. The snatches of French songs that she sang to him always seemed to amuse him.

It was evening. Marcus was still out trying to arrange for us to get on a ferry. We had had dinner and had gone up to the bedroom I shared with Annabelinda and Edouard, who was fast asleep at this time. Annabelinda, Andrée and Miss Carruthers had joined us there.

It was an attic room with a ceiling that sloped almost to the floor on one side, and there was a small window which looked out on the harbor.

We were talking in a rather desultory manner when suddenly the atmosphere changed and it became a time of revelation. I do not know how these things happen. It might have been because we were all uneasy and that gray sea outside seemed like a mighty barrier between us and England, reminding us of the difficulties, mocking us as it beat against the harbor walls, reminding us that we were far from home, that we might be caught up in this war and never cross that sea.