Our road, like a white ribbon, wound itself out endlessly between
stone walls or brown fields. In my content I forgot food and such
prosaic details till I noticed that the girl looked pale.
"I say," I exclaimed remorsefully: "we've been omitting rolls and
coffee! I'm going to get you some at the first town we pass."
"We are coming to a town now, to Le Moreau." She was looking anxious.
"Yes? I'm afraid I don't place it exactly. Ought I to?"
"It is the first town in the war zone. And--and our road passes through
it."
"Oh!" I was enlightened. "Then they will probably ask to see our papers
at the _octroi_?"
"Yes."
The car was eating up the smooth white road; I could see the little
_octroi_ building at the town boundary-line, and a group of gendarmes in
readiness close by. It was a critical moment. Miss Falconer, I
recalled, had said she could get through to Carrefonds; but glittering
generalities were not likely to convince these sentries; one needed
safe-conducts, passes, identity cards, and such concrete aids. She
couldn't give a reasonable account of herself, I felt quite certain; and
even if she did, how was she to account for me?
As I brought the car to a standstill, my conscience clamored, and my
costume seemed to shriek incongruity from every seam.
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