INSIDE, the old priest at the sound of her knock looked up from his reading and took off his spectacles.
"Come in," he said, and Lily stepped uncertainly through the door, her eyes blinded by the bright flame of the petrol light. M. Dupont, regarding her with an expression of amazement, rose from his chair.
"It is I, Madame Shane," said Lily. "The friend of Madame Gigon."
"Ah, yes, I remember you well."
Before this night there had passed between them occasional greetings when he came to the lodge to play piquet with Madame Gigon, when he passed Lily riding through the wood in the early morning.
"Won't you sit down?" and then, "Why are you here? You know the Germans may come any time now. Surely before morning."
"As soon as that?" asked Lily indifferently. She had not thought of the Germans. Perhaps they would come. It did not matter greatly.
The old man bent his head over the table and began to turn the pages of the book. "Our soldiers are brave, Madame," he said. "But there is too much against them. They were not ready. In the end we will win. . . . For the present . . ." He finished with a gesture implying that the matter lay in the hands of the good God. He was a simple man, a peasant trained for the priesthood by devout and adoring parents.
"It would be better if you would go away," he said after a sudden pause. "I imagine it will not be pleasant."
Lily laughed softly. For a moment something of her old gay indifference appeared to return, even a shade of the spirit with which she had met another adventure years before in the park at Cypress Hill.
