fresh, unruffled wool, the sun struck out with a suddenness that seemed
to tear the sky in two, and turned the blue snow into a sheet of light
which stretched far below them into a country of pine woods and pits of
shadow. Down, down they ran, till just below lay a village--if village
it was when only a house or two were gathered together for company in
the forest.

The snow seemed to have lain here for days, for the car slipped and
skidded at the steep entrance, where the boys of the village had made
slides for their toboggans. A hundred feet from the first house a
triumphal arch was built of pine and laurel across the road. On it was
written in white letters "Soyez le Bienvenu." All the white poor houses
glittered in the snow with flags.

A stream crossed the village street, and a file of geese on its narrow
bridge brought her to a standstill.

"What are the flags for?" she asked of an old man, pressing back into a
safety alcove in the stone wall of the bridge.

"We expect Petain here to-day. He is coming to Thionville."

"But Thionville is forty miles away--"

"Still, he might pass here--"

Running on and on through forest and hilly country, they left the snow
behind them, and slipped down into greener valleys, till at last they
came upon a single American sentry, and over his head was chalked upon a
board: "This is Germany."