"Is there any reason why you think it would be better for us not to go
there?" I decided to ask frankly.
"It's getting rather late," he suggested, in his precise English. "You
have also the Pavilion of Prince Eitel Fritz before you. If it grows too
dark, you cannot see St. Quentin well, in the distance, and the glasses
will be of no use for Soissons."
"But we're _going_ to Soissons day after to-morrow!" said Father
Beckett.
"And there'll be a moon presently," added Dierdre. She had heard of the
ruined convent at Chauny and was determined not to miss it.
"Yes, there'll be a moon," reluctantly admitted Monsieur le Lieutenant.
"Is there still another reason?" I tried to help him.
"Well, yes, there is one, Mademoiselle," he blurted out. "I had meant
not to mention it. But perhaps it is best to tell, and then you may all
choose whether you go to Chauny or not. There is a certain risk at this
time of day, or a little later. You know we are close to the front here,
and enemy aeroplanes fly nearly every afternoon over Chauny toward dusk.
They hope to catch some important personage, and they come expressly to
'spot' automobiles. The road through the ruined town is white and new,
and the gray military cars in which we bring visitors to the front stand
out clearly, especially as twilight falls. I'm afraid we have lingered
too long in some of these places. If we were a party of men, I should
say nothing, but with three ladies----"
"I can answer for all three, Monsieur," said Mother Beckett, with a
pathetically defiant tilt of her small chin.
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