"If you leave all those things in the car you could fetch them as you
go," suggested Fanny, eyeing the daggers.

The man whistled and screwed up one eye. "When one believes in Freedom
one must go armed," he said. "Show me the car."

Going with her to the car-shed he looked at the spark-plugs of the car,
at her suggestion unscrewing three from their seatings. At the fourth he
grew tired, and said fretfully: "Now I must be off. You know I must. The
King expects me."

He walked to the gate of the yard, and she saw the men behind the gate
about to close on him. "You're not wearing your decorations!" she
called after him. He stopped, looked down, looked a little troubled.

She took the gilt safety pin from her tie, the safety pin that held her
collar to her blouse at the back, and another from the back of her
skirt, and pinned them along his poor coat. An ambulance drove quickly
into the yard, and three men, descending from it, hurried towards them.
At sight of them the poor madman grew frantic, and turning upon Fanny he
cried: "You are against me!" then ran across the yard. She shut her eyes
that she might not see them hunt the lover of freedom, and only opened
them when a man cried in triumph: "_We'll_ take you to the King!"

"Pauvre malheureux!" muttered the drivers in the yard.

Day followed day and there was plenty of work. Officers had to be driven
upon rounds of two hundred kilometres a day--interviewing mayors of
ruined villages, listening to claims, assessing damage caused by French