by a side aisle, beckoned an altar boy and whispered in his ear words to
the effect that the curate would better hurry his mass and thereby give
his flock time to escape the invaders.

I said this calmly, and hoped he would follow my example in delivering
my message, but imagine if you can the effect produced by this
frightened individual, who, lifting his hands in the air, cried out in
terror, "_Vite, vite, Monsieur le Cure'! Voila' les Prussiens!_"

I didn't wait to see what happened, but went out and joined my group,
which was making ready to start. How far advanced was mass when I
entered the church I did not observe, but what I do know is that it
finished abruptly after my warning, and the poor hearse horse never
before galloped towards the cemetery of Choisy at such a pace nor in
such an undignified manner. As to the mourners, they fairly flew beside
it, greatly diminished in number, the others scattering like chaff
before the wind.

The half-hour's interval allowed by the cyclists for the horses to
arrive was far overlapped by the time we once again took the road, but
the sound of the cannonade had gradually grown closer.

Wearied by this constant changing of camp, I made up my mind to go far
enough in this next move to be able to really rest for a day or so.
Consulting my map, I discovered Jouyle-Chatel to be at what I judged a
safe distance--nearly thirty kilometres and considerably south of Paris.
The afternoon was still young, so we would have time to make the town
before dark. At any rate, I told George to accompany me and explained
that he and I would ride ahead full speed, and arrange for beds and a
dinner by the time the others should arrive. They were instructed not