From Dunkirk to the Front, the road, after the Belgian line was passed,

was lightly guarded. Henri came out of a reverie to explain to Sara Lee.

"We have not many men," he said. "And those that remain are holding the

line. It is very weary, our army."

Now at home Uncle James had thought very highly of the Belgian Army. He

had watched the fight they made, and he had tried to interest Sara Lee

in it. But without much result. She had generally said: "Isn't it

wonderful!" or "horrible," as the case might be, and put out of her mind

as soon as possible the ringing words he had been reading. But she had

not forgotten, she found. They came back to her as she rode through that

deserted countryside. Henri, glancing back somewhat later, found her in

tears.

He climbed back at once into the rear of the car and sat down beside her.

"You are homesick, I think?"

"Yes. But not for myself. I am just homesick for all the people who

have lost their homes. You--and Jean, and all the rest."

"Some day I shall tell you about my home and what has happened to it,"

he said gravely. "Not now. It is not pleasant. But you must remember

this: We are going back home, we Belgians." And after a little pause:

"Just as you are."

He lapsed into silence after that, and Sara Lee, stealing a glance at

him, saw his face set and hard. She had a purely maternal impulse to

reach over and pat his hand.

Jean did not like Henri's shift to the rear of the car. He drove with

a sort of irritable feverishness, until Henri leaned over and touched

him on the shoulder.

"We have mademoiselle with us, Jean," he said in French.

"It is not difficult to believe," growled Jean. But he slackened his

pace somewhat.

So far the road had been deserted. Now they had come up to a stream of

traffic flowing slowly toward the Front. Armored cars, looking tall and

top-heavy, rumbled and jolted along. Many lorries, one limousine

containing a general, a few Paris buses, all smeared a dingy gray and

filled with French soldiers, numberless and nondescript open machines,

here and there a horse-drawn vehicle--these filled the road. In and

out among them Jean threaded his way, while Sara Lee grew crimson with

the effort to see it all, and Henri sat very stiff and silent.

At a crossroads they were halted by troops who had fallen out for a rest.

The men stood at ease, and stared their fill at Sara Lee. Save for a

few weary peasants, most of them had seen no women for months. But they

were respectful, if openly admiring. And their admiration of her was

nothing to Sara Lee's feeling toward them. She loved them all--boys

with their first straggly beards on their chins; older men, looking worn

and tired; French and Belgian; smiling and sad. But most of all, for

Uncle James' sake, she loved the Belgians.




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