The whole road was, however, blocked, and, even had our donkey wished to pass,—­which she did not,—­we could not.  We simply fell into the procession, as soon as we found a place.  Amelie and I did not say a word to each other until we reached the road that turns off to the Chateau de Conde; but I did speak to a man on horseback, who proved to be the intendant of one of the chateaux at Daumartin, and with another who was the mayor.  I simply asked from where these people had come, and was told that they were evacuating Daumartin and all the towns on the plain between there and Meaux, which meant that Monthyon, Neufmortier, Penchard, Chauconin, Barcy, Chambry,—­in fact, all the villages visible from my garden were being evacuated by order of the military powers.

One of the most disquieting things about this was to see the effect of the procession as it passed along the road.  All the way from Esbly to Montry people began to pack at once, and the speed with which they fell into the procession was disconcerting.

When we finally escaped from the crowd into the poplar-shaded avenue which leads to the Chateau de Conde, I turned to look at Amelie for the first time.  I had had time to get a good hold of myself.  “Well, Amelie?” I said.

“Oh, madame,” she replied, “I shall stay.”

“And so shall I,” I answered; but I added, “I think I must make an effort to get to Paris to-morrow, and I think you had better come with me.  I shall not go, of course, unless I am sure of being able to get back.  We may as well face the truth:  if this means that Paris is in danger, or if it means that we may in our turn be forced to move on, I must get some money so as to be ready.”

“Very well, madame,” she replied as cheerfully as if the rumble of the procession behind us were not still in our ears.

The next morning—­that was September 2—­I woke just before daylight.  There was a continual rumble in the air.  At first I thought it was the passing of more refugies on the road.  I threw open my blinds, and then realized that the noise was in the other direction—­from the route nationale.  I listened.  I said to myself, “If that is not artillery, then I never heard any.”

Sure enough, when Amelie came to get breakfast, she announced that the English soldiers were at the Demi-Lune.  The infantry was camped there, and the artillery had descended to Couilly and was mounting the hill on the other side of the Morin—­between us and Paris.

I said a sort of “Hm,” and told her to ask Pere to harness at once.  As we had no idea of the hours of the trains, or even if there were any, it was best to get to Esbly as early as possible.  It was nine o’clock when we arrived, to find that there should be a train at half past.  The station was full.  I hunted up the chef de gare, and asked him if I could be sure of being able to return if I went up to Paris.

He looked at me in perfect amazement.