I need not tell you that my mind was acting like lightning.  I remembered, in the pause, as I poured him another cup of tea, and pushed the jam pot toward him, that Amelie had heard at Voisins last night that there were horses in the woods near the canal; that they had been heard neighing in the night; and that we had jumped to the conclusion that there were English cavalry there.  I mentioned this to the captain, but for some reason it did not seem to make much impression on him; so I did not insist, as there was something that seemed more important which I had been getting up the courage to ask him.  It had been on my lips all day.  I put it.

“Captain,” I asked, “do you think there is any danger in my staying here?”

He took a long drink before he answered:—­

“Little lady, there is danger everywhere between Paris and the Channel.  Personally—­since you have stayed until getting away will be difficult—­I do not really believe that there is any reason why you should not stick it out.  You may have a disagreeable time.  But I honestly believe you are running no real risk of having more than that.  At all events, I am going to do what I can to assure your personal safety.  As we understand it—­no one really knows anything except the orders given out—­it is not intended that the Germans shall cross the Marne here.  But who knows?  Anyway, if I move on, each division of the Expeditionary Force that retreats to this hill will know that you are here.  If it is necessary, later, for you to leave, you will be notified and precautions taken for your safety.  You are not afraid?”

I could only tell him, “Not yet,” but I could not help adding, “Of course I am not so stupid as to suppose for a moment that you English have retreated here to amuse yourselves, or that you have dragged your artillery up the hill behind me just to exercise your horses or to give your gunners a pretty promenade.”

He threw back his head and laughed aloud for the first time, and I felt better.

“Precautions do not always mean a battle, you know”; and as he rose to his feet he called my attention to a hole in his coat, saying, “It was a miracle that I came through Saint-Quentin with a whole skin.  The bullets simply rained about me.  It was pouring—­I had on a mackintosh—­which made me conspicuous as an officer, if my height had not exposed me.  Every German regiment carries a number of sharpshooters whose business is to pick off the officers.  However, it was evidently not my hour.”

As we walked out to the gate I asked him if there was anything else I could do for him.

“Do you think,” he replied, “that you could get me a couple of fresh eggs at half-past seven and let me have a cold wash-up?”

“Well, rather,” I answered, and he rode away.

As soon as he was gone one of the picket called from the road to know if they could have “water and wash.”