I told them of course they could—­to come right in.

He said that they could not do that, but that if they could have water at the gate—­and I did not mind—­they could wash up in relays in the road.  So Pere came and drew buckets and buckets of water, and you never saw such a stripping and such a slopping, as they washed and shaved—­and with such dispatch.  They had just got through, luckily, when, at about half-past six, the captain rode hurriedly down the hill again.  He carried a slip of white paper in his hand, which he seemed intent on deciphering.

As I met him at the gate he said:—­

“Sorry I shall miss those eggs—­I’ve orders to move east,” and he began to round up his men.

I foolishly asked him why.  I felt as if I were losing a friend.

“Orders,” he answered.  Then he put the slip of paper into his pocket, and leaning down he said:—­

“Before I go I am going to ask you to let my corporal pull down your flags.  You may think it cowardly.  I think it prudent.  They can be seen a long way.  It is silly to wave a red flag at a bull.  Any needless display of bravado on your part would be equally foolish.”

So the corporal climbed up and pulled down the big flags, and together we marched them off to the stable.  When I returned to the gate, where the captain was waiting for the rest of the picket to arrive, I was surprised to find my French caller of the morning standing there, with a pretty blonde girl, whom she introduced as her sister-in-law.  She explained that they had started in the morning, but that their wagon had been overloaded and broken down and they had had to return, and that her mother was “glad of it.”  It was perfectly natural that she should ask me to ask the “English officer if it was safe to stay.”  I repeated the question.  He looked down at them, asked if they were friends of mine.  I explained that they were neighbors and acquaintances only.

“Well,” he said, “I can only repeat what I said to you this morning—­I think you are safe here.  But for God’s sake, don’t give it to them as coming from me.  I can assure your personal safety, but I cannot take the whole village on my conscience.”  I told him that I would not quote him.

All this time he had been searching in a letter-case, and finally selected an envelope from which he removed the letter, passing me the empty cover.

“I want you,” he said, “to write me a letter—­that address will always reach me.  I shall be anxious to know how you came through, and every one of these boys will be interested.  You have given them the only happy day they have had since they left home.  As for me—­if I live—­I shall some time come back to see you.  Good-bye and good luck.”  And he wheeled his horse and rode up the hill, his boys marching behind him; and at the turn of the road they all looked back and I waved my hand, and I don’t mind telling you that I nodded to the French girls at the gate and got into the house as quickly as I could—­and wiped my eyes.  Then I cleared up the tea-mess.  It was not until the house was in order again that I put on my glasses and read the envelope that the captain had given me:—­