John was in the last cart with Julie, Suzanne and Picard, and his soul was full of bitter chagrin.  He had just been taking mental resolutions to protect, no matter what came, Philip Lannes’ sister, and, within a half hour, both she and he were prisoners.  But when he saw the face of Antoine Picard he knew that one, at least, in the cart was suffering as much as he.  The gigantic peasant was the only one whose arms were bound, and perhaps it was as well.  His face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds.  John could see that they were cutting into the flesh.  He remembered also that Picard was not in uniform.  He was in German eyes only a franc tireur, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von Boehlen had delayed.

“Save your strength, Antoine,” he whispered soothingly.  “We’ll need it later.  I’ve been a prisoner before and I escaped.  What’s been done once can be done again.  In such a huge and confused war as this there’s always a good chance.”

“Ah, you’re right, Monsieur,” said Antoine, and he ceased to struggle.

Julie had heard the whisper, and she looked at John confidently.  She was the youngest of all the women in the carts, but she was the coolest.

“They cannot do anything with us but hold us a few days,” she said.

John was silent, turning away his somber face.  He did not like this carrying away of the women as captives, and to him the women were embodied in Julie.  They were following a little path through the woods, the German drivers and German guards seeming to know well the way.  John, calculating the course by the sun, was sure that they were now going directly toward the German army and that they would pass unobserved beyond the French outposts.  The path was leading into a narrow gorge and the banks and trees would hide them from all observation.  He was confirmed in his opinion by the action of their guards.  The leader rode beside the carts and said in very good French that any one making the least outcry would be shot instantly.  No exception would be made in the case of a woman.

John knew that the threat would be kept.  Julie Lannes paled a little, and the faithful Suzanne by her side was darkly menacing, but they showed no other emotion.

“Don’t risk anything,” said John in the lowest of whispers.  “It would be useless.”

Julie nodded.  The carts moved on down the gorge, their wheels and the hoofs of the horses making but little noise on the soft turf.  The crash of the guns was now distinctly louder and far ahead they saw wisps of smoke floating above the trees.  John was sure that the German batteries were there, but he was equally sure that even had he glasses he could not have seen them.  They would certainly be masked in some adroit fashion.

The roaring also grew on their right and left.  That must be the French cannon, and soon they would be beyond the French lines.  His bitterness increased.  Nothing could be more galling than to be carried in this manner through one’s own forces and into the camp of the enemy.  And there was Julie, sitting quiet and pale, apparently without fear.