I was there on the afternoon of January 16, and as from this point
trains were still running westward, I reached Saint Servan on the
following day. Thus I slipped through to my goal, thereby justifying the
nickname of L'Anguille--the Eel--which some of my young French friends had
bestowed on me.
A day or two previously my father had returned from England, and I found
him with my stepmother. He became very much interested in my story, and
talked of going to Laval himself. Further important developments might
soon occur, the Germans might push on to Chanzy's new base, and I felt
that I also ought to go back. The life I had been leading either makes or
mars a man physically. Personally, I believe that it did me a world of
good. At all events, it was settled that my father and myself should go to
Laval together. We started a couple of days later, and managed to travel
by rail as far as Rennes. But from that point to Laval the line was now
very badly blocked, and so we hired a closed vehicle, a ramshackle affair,
drawn by two scraggy Breton nags. The main roads, being still crowded with
troops, artillery, and baggage waggons, and other impedimenta, were often
impassable, and so we proceeded by devious ways, amidst which our driver
lost himself, in such wise that at night we had to seek a shelter at the
famous Chateau des Bochers, immortalized by Mme.
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