Cousin hesitated for a moment, taken unawares both by the suddenness and the simplicity of this decision, resenting the haste that tended to disturb the elements of his dream. He felt it was almost an act of barbarity to let enthusiasm be swamped in this manner by immediate action. He liked to turn heroic projects over in his mind and savor them at greater length. However, he felt he ought to appear even more impulsive than Morvan, and so declared:
“We’ll leave just as we are. We don’t need anything.”
“I’ve already packed some supplies,” said Claire.
“There’s enough for three people. I’m coming with you.”
To her brother’s astonishment, she explained that some men from a neighboring village, who had come home a few days earlier, had told her that Morvan had escaped. She and her mother had therefore expected him to turn up sooner or later.
“We got everything ready, just in case,” she concluded.
“Good work,” said Morvan.
Her completely natural tone and absence of unnecessary remarks elicited in Cousin a mixture of envy and irritation. Her attitude seemed to belittle the heroism of his own conduct. She repeated calmly, “I’m coming with you,” and her mother raised no objection. “Just in case,” as she put it, everything had been made ready, and there was no use turning back now. Once again he felt that his role demanded a little overacting.
“Let’s be off at once,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
Claire quietly told him that the boat was only an hour away and that they would have to wait a little longer for a favorable tide.
“We’d do better to wait by the boat.”
He urged them to hurry. The old woman, in spite of her fortitude, was in tears. Yet she did not try to hold her children back. She realized the danger of the expedition but preferred them to be well out of the way of the Germans, whose imminent arrival filled her
with horror.
“You youngsters,” she muttered; “it’s best for you not to stay here.”
Cousin stood in the background, keeping a watchful eye on this farewell scene. Claire was weeping. Morvan had turned his head aside. So they were showing a few signs of weakness at last! This gave him a sense of relief. He would now be able to resume his role of leader. He was familiar with every aspect of it and was glad to know he could play it to perfection. In fact, he
played it so well that he succeeded, by his facial expression alone, in convincing the others that it was only from a sense of duty that he was hurrying them on, and that in spite of his commanding, even obdurate, attitude, he himself was having to make an effort to hold back his tears. They were deeply grateful to him for this. When the desired effect had been obtained, his features hardened, and from then on he appeared to them only as the leader who had no right to let his feelings get the better of him. He snatched them from their mother’s arms, ordered them to get moving, and hustled them outside, toward the great adventure, without having any feeling that he was being led by them.
With him, mental reactions invariably preceded the physical, but thus far his body had never lagged far behind. It always followed—after a certain lapse of time, to be sure—but it always did follow, urged on by the imperative demands created by his mind.
4
Morvan was not boasting when he said he was a fairly good seaman. Moreover, fortune favored them. They moved out of the estuary, sailed safely through the night, and at first light, having run out of fuel, were sighted by a British patrol vessel that took them on board. The captain had explicit orders concerning seafarers of this sort. He took them straight to a beach in England where a camp for French refugees had been established. There they went through the procedure common to all foreigners arriving by unusual means. They were subjected to several interrogations, sometimes with suspicion but always with courtesy, and over and over again had to answer the question that exasperated a great many men of good will at this period:
“What brought you here?”
They were housed in a tent and informed that they could not be sent to London for several days. Meanwhile a security officer asked them to prepare as detailed a report as possible on their voyage and to give any information they were in a position to provide. Morvan and his sister handed in their contribution that very evening. It consisted of a single sheet of paper, and the corporal had had to cudgel his brains to expand it even to this length.
Cousin, on the other hand, embarked on this report with the respect that any form of writing inspired in him and with the particular enthusiasm he felt for a series of events in which he had played a leading part. This extraordinary odyssey—it was he who had lived through it, none other than he. He let this idea
sink in until it was firmly fixed in his mind, and he felt a thrill of delight at the thought that he had now become, beyond all doubt, a seasoned adventurer.
His opus occupied him all the time they were in camp, which was over a week, yet he did not feel the slightest impatience at the slowness of the administrative machinery that was retarding the realization of his dreams of glory. He needed this breathing space to tot up the score of his exploits, to work out the sum total of his prowess, while setting it off to the best advantage in his own particular medium.
As in all his literary work, he subjected himself to the strictest objectivity and accuracy in dealing with the facts. Facts are intangible, and his talent came into play only with their presentation, their coordination, and the subsequent inquiry into their significance. But even then he was careful not to let himself be carried away by his inspiration. He was held in check by the soundest professional conscience and never allowed a statement to pass without first submitting it to a rigorous critical analysis.
Referring to his meeting with Morvan, for instance, he mentioned, without undue emphasis and with great reserve, that he had been sorry to find him resigned to defeat. This was strictly accurate. Before committing it to paper, he recalled the indignation he had felt when he saw that Morvan’s one and only idea was to get back to his village. He added that perhaps there
was some excuse for the corporal's momentary lack of resolution and that Morvan had realized where his real duty lay as soon as he, Cousin, had pointed it out. He was sure Morvan would turn out to be a first-rate sol- dier now that he had been set once again on the right course . . . “and provided he is properly led,” he added after a moment’s reflection, in an effort to condense his whole opinion into one brief sentence.
In connection with this “duty,” which, with supreme tact, he refrained from defining, merely allowing its nature to be implicitly and plainly inferred, a slight confusion of dates had conveniently taken root in his mind. Thus his fierce desire to continue the struggle had inspired every move he had made—in particular his retreat—ever since he had been aware of the disorganization of the army. His decision had been made long before the appeal he had heard on the radio, which had merely served to give a definite ma- terial form to his hopes and to a plan he had worked out some time before. It was an insignificant distinction in itself and lent itself quite naturally to his pen, seeing that it gave such a logical and coherent aspect to the memory of his trek.
He did not forget to mention Claire in this document, which he wished to make as complete as possible. After reflecting on her character at great length, he summed up her conduct in a single sentence, in much the same manner he had once used to round off an essay on a particularly difficult subject. He declared that ”. . . she must certainly be an extremely plucky girl to have undertaken an expedition that would have daunted many men.” Here, too, one must admit, his report adhered strictly to the truth; no one in the world could deny that Claire was a plucky girl. He read this passage over several times and found it met with his entire satisfaction.
They left for London, hoping that the formalities were at last over and done with. There they were put in touch with another service, which handled all French nationals who declared their intention of continuing the struggle on the side of the Allies. The majority were immediately steered into the embryonic staff offices of Free France. A few others, who seemed to be more promising material, were offered the chance of working directly with the British and were given to understand that their talents would be put to use more quickly.