"Keep straight on this road. If it should fork, take the direction of
the La Ferte Gauche. I'll be back in no time." Then turning about, I
started a parallel race with an autobus, much to the delight of the
occupants.

Useless to say that my adversary gained on the up-grade, turned the
corner, was gone, and was followed by another long before I reached the
public square, breathless and full of anxiety.

Rebais was empty--not even a tardy refugee straggled by the wayside, and
before I reached the bakery I could hear the plaintive howls of my
little brute.

What a joyful welcome I received. What hilarious waggings of that
little screw tail! But, there was no time to be lost, for the problem
now was how Betsy was to catch up with the procession. She was too
heavy for me to carry under my arm, and too old and puffy to be expected
to follow a bicycle--but it was one or the other, and tying her leash to
the handle bar, off we started, after an encouraging pat on the head and
the promise of a lump of sugar if she would only "be a good girl."

On we sped, past the huge lumbering motorbuses, which terrified the poor
animal who tugged vehemently at her string, at times almost choking
herself.

In half an hour we had caught up with the caravan, and as I lifted poor
exhausted Betsy on to the hay, Nini roused from her dozing and pointing
to the east, said, "Oh, look! what a big fire!"