She was seized with fits of violent shivering. At one moment she had
planned in her despair to call to Foss and tell him she would walk--but
she had let the moment pass and now she put away the thought of walking
on those lifeless feet. Besides, she would be seen--that well-known cap,
bobbing back between the trees from Chantilly so early in the morning!
"Oh, Honour of the Section, I am guarding you like my life!" She tried
to raise her head a little to ease her neck.
"Don't move," said Foss.
Feet pattered past her; motors swept by; bicycle bells rang.
"Foss," she said.
The soldier leant towards her and listened.
"Choose your own time, but you must let me sit up a moment. I am in
pain."
"Then, now, mademoiselle!"
She sat up, flinging the rug back, dazzled by the splendour of the
forest, the climbing sun, the heavy-burdened trees. Behind her was a
cart coming up slowly; far ahead a cyclist swayed in the ruts of the
road. As they approached her she pleaded: "They can't know me! Let
me sit up--"
But Foss knew only one master, his sergeant.
"Better go down, mademoiselle."
She went down again under the black rug, close against the wind that
lifted the floor-boards, wrapping her coat more tightly round her,
folding her arms about her knees.
"It must be nearly eight. I have an hour more before they come in to
breakfast.
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