But we had covered only about half the
distance when a snow-storm overtook us, and we had to seek shelter at
Champlan. A German officer there assisted in placing our vehicles under
cover, but the few peasants whom we saw eyeing us inquisitively from the
doors of their houses declared that the only thing they could let us have
to eat was dry bread, there being no meat, no eggs, no butter, no cheese,
in the whole village. Further, they averred that they had not even a pint
of wine to place at our disposal. "The Germans have taken everything,"
they said; "we have 800 of them in and around the village, and there are
not more than a dozen of us left here, all the rest having fled to Paris
when the siege began."
The outlook seemed bad, but Mr. Wodehouse's valet, a shrewd and energetic
man of thirty or thereabouts, named Frost, said to me, "I don't believe
all this. I dare say that if some money is produced we shall be able to
get something." Accordingly we jointly tackled a disconsolate-looking
fellow, who, if I remember rightly, was either the village wheelwright or
blacksmith; and, momentarily leaving the question of food on one side, we
asked him if he had not at least a fire in his house at which we might
warm ourselves.
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