They were passing a little group of them. From the crowd an Unterfeldwebel came up to them; he wore long black boots and breeches stained with oil. 'That is the proper spirit,' he said in harsh, guttural French. 'We Germans are your friends. We bring you peace. Very soon you will be able to go home again.'
The children stared at him, as if they did not understand what he had said. Very likely this was so, because his French was very bad.
Howard said in French: 'It will be good when we have peace again.' There was no point in giving up before he was found out.
The man smiled, a set, expressionless grin. 'How far have you come?'
'From Pithiviers.'
'Have you walked so far?'
'No. We got a lift in a lorry which broke down a few miles back.'
The German said: 'So. Then you will want supper. In the Place there is a soup-kitchen which you may go to.'
Howard said: lje vous remercie.' There was nothing else to say.
The man was pleased. He ran his eye over them and frowned at the little boy in the smock. He stepped up and took him by the head, not ungently, and examined the wound on his neck. Then he looked at his own hands, and wiped them with disgust, having handled the child's head.
'So!' he said, 'By the church there is a field hospital. Take him to the Sanitätsunterojfizier.' He dismissed them curtly and turned back to his men.
One or two of the men looked at them woodenly, listlessly, but no one else spoke to them. They went on to the centre of the town. At the cross-roads in the middle, where the road to Orleans turned off to the left and the road to Paris to the right, there was a market square before a large grey church. In the centre of the square the band was playing.
It was a band of German soldiers. They stood there, about twenty of them, playing doggedly, methodically; doing their duty for their Führer. They wore soft field caps and silver tassels on their shoulders. A Feldwebel conducted them. He stood above them on a little rostrum, the baton held lovingly between his finger-tips. He was a heavy, middle-aged man; as he waved he turned from side to side and smile benignly on his audience. Behind the band a row of tanks and armoured cars were parked.
The audience was mostly French. A few grey-faced, listless German soldiers stood around, seemingly tired to death; the remainder of the audience were men and women of the town. They stood round gaping curiously at the intruder, peering at the tanks and furtively studying the uniforms and accoutrements of the men.
Ronnie said in English, 'There's the band, Mr Howard. May we go and listen to it?'
The old man looked quickly round. Nobody seemed to have heard him. 'Not now,' he said in French. 'We must go with this little boy to have his neck dressed.'
He led the children away from the crowd. 'Try not to speak English while we're here,' he said quietly to Ronnie.
'Why not, Mr Howard?'
Sheila said: 'May I speak English, Mr Howard?'
'No,' he said. The Germans don't like to hear people speaking English.'
The little girl said in English: 'Would the Germans mind if Rose spoke English?'
A passing Frenchwoman looked at them curiously. The old man beat down his irritation; they were only children. He said in French: 'If you speak English I'll find a little frog to put into your mouth.'
Rose said: 'Oo - to hear what monsieur has said! A little frog! It would be horrible, that.'
In mixed laughter and apprehension they went on talking in French.
The field hospital was on the far side of the church. As they went towards it every German soldier that they passed smiled at them mechanically, a set, expressionless grin. When the first one did it the children stopped to stare, and had to be herded on. After the first half-dozen they got used to it.
One of the men said: 'Bonjour, mes enfants.'
Howard muttered quietly. 'Bonjour, m'sieur,' and passed on. It was only a few steps to the hospital tent; the net was very close around him now.
The hospital consisted of a large marquee extending from a lorry. At the entrance a lance-corporal of the medical service, a Sanitätsgefreiter, stood idle and bored, picking his teeth.
Howard said to Rose: 'Stay here and keep the children with you.' He led the little boy up to the tent. He said to the man in French: 'The little boy is wounded. A little piece of plaster or a bandage, perhaps?'
The man smiled, that same fixed, mirthless smile. He examined the child deftly. 'So!' he said. 'Kommen Sie - entrez.'
The old man followed with the child into the tent. A dresser was tending a German soldier with a burnt hand; apart from them the only other occupant was a doctor wearing a white overall. His rank was not apparent. The orderly led the child to him and showed him the wound.
The doctor nodded briefly. Then he turned the child's head to the light and looked at it, expressionless. Then he opened the child's soiled clothes and looked at his chest. Then, rather ostentatiously, he rinsed his hands.
He crossed the tent to Howard. 'You will come again,' he said in thick French. 'In one hour,' he held up one finger. 'One hour.' Fearing that he had not made himself understood he pulled out his watch and pointed to the hands. 'Six hours.'
'Bien compris,' said the old man. 'A six heures.' He left the tent, wondering what dark trouble lay in store for him. It could not take an hour to put a dressing on a little cut.
Still there was nothing he could do. He did not dare even to enter into any long conversation with the German; sooner or later his British accent must betray him. He went back to the children and led them away from the tent.
Earlier in the day - how long ago it seemed! - Sheila had suffered a sartorial disaster, in that she had lost her knickers. It had not worried her or any of the children, but it had weighed on Howard's mind. Now was the time to rectify that omission. To ease Ronnie's longings they went and had a look at the German tanks in the Place; then, ten minutes later, he led them to a draper's shop not far from the field hospital.
He pushed open the door of the shop, and a German soldier was at the counter. It was too late to draw back, and to do so would have raised suspicion; he stood aside and waited till the German had finished his purchases. Then, as he stood there in the background, he saw that the German was the orderly from the hospital.
A little bundle of clothes lay on the counter before him, a yellow jersey, a pair of brown children's shorts, socks, and a vest. 'Cinquante quatre, quatre vingt dix,' said the stout old woman at the counter.
The German did not understand her rapid way of speech. She repeated it several times; then he pushed a little pad of paper towards her, and she wrote the sum on the pad for him. He took it and studied it. Then he wrote his own name and the unit carefully beneath. He tore off the sheet and gave it to her.
'You will be paid later,' he said, in difficult French. He gathered up the garments.
She protested. 'I cannot let you take away the clothes unless I have the money. My husband - he would be very much annoyed. He would be furious. Truly, monsieur - that is not possible at all.'
The German said stolidly: 'It is good. You will be paid. That is a good requisition.'
She said angrily: 'It is not good at all, that. It is necessary that you should pay with money.'