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.
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