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Germans.
    Taking advantage of the obligation the militia felt to me, I asked them in my halting French for assistance in moving the time machine to a safer location. As soon as they caught my meaning, about half a dozen of them accompanied me back to where my apparatus had landed.
    I had thought the time machine heavy when I had attempted futilely to drag it to safety, myself. The militiamen, however, were used to heavy labor. With no apparent effort, they carried it from the square past the church and into a shed on a nearby street.
    My helpers appeared quite curious over the nature of the time machine and one of them went so far as to try and examine the wires connecting the batteries to the engine. To dissuade such efforts, I quickly explained that it was a type of American balloon and that touching it might cause the apparatus to explode. Frightened, the Frenchmen quickly backed away from the device.
    As they did so, I seized the opportunity to inspect the time machine for bullet holes or other signs of damage. To my relief, it appeared intact. I took my screw driver from the emergency tool kit and once again began unscrewing the control panel to check the electrical circuits.
    The sooner I repaired it, the sooner I could return home.

Chapter III
    W orking as rapidly as I could, I had almost completed the repairs when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. Turning, I found myself facing a tall man clad in a dark blue uniform. Even without his sword and epaulets, the great deference the militia displayed toward him would have led me to realize that he was a senior officer.
    “I am Major Colbert of Colonel De Porte’s staff,” he said. “The colonel would like to speak with you. Would you be kind enough to join me?”
    His French was slow and distinct and I found to my surprise that I could understand him. His manner was polite, but I had no illusions that I had any choice in the matter. If I declined his request, I would be taken to meet the Colonel by force.
    “With pleasure, Major,” I said, my pronunciation sounding atrocious to my ears. “I would be grateful if you could insure that my balloon is safeguarded. And please make sure that nobody touches it. It could explode.”
    The Major ordered the militia to lock the time machine in the shed and to deploy around it to provide security. Reluctantly, I followed him outside and watched as the militia executed his orders. They did so with surprising speed.
    “I am sure your balloon will be quite safe,” he said, turning to me. “Dusk is falling and the Germans do not normally attack at night.”
    Colbert turned and began striding rapidly. Two of the militiamen joined me, one on each side and motioned me to follow him. I decided I had no choice but to comply. I set out and with great effort increased my pace until I caught up with him.
    We strode together for several blocks, passing several lines of rudimentary fortifications manned by mixed groups of militia and what I took to be regular soldiers in blue uniforms similar to that of the major’s.
    Beyond the last of the fortifications the scenery changed. None of the buildings bore signs of war damage and most of the shops were open. We passed several women on the sidewalk and a group of children playing.
    Colbert stopped in front of a large stone house guarded by two uniformed sentries.
    “This is Colonel De Porte’s headquarters,” he said, “Please wait here.”
    The major entered the house, leaving me with the two militiamen. One of them began talking to the sentries. I gathered he was bargaining with them, offering to exchange a piece of bread for a cigarette. At length, a deal consummated, the militiaman took a loaf of dark bread from the voluminous pocket of his greatcoat. He hacked off a hunk of it with his bayonet and handed it to one of the sentries in return for a hand-rolled cigarette.
    I had just declined an offer from the militiaman to take a few puffs from the cigarette when Major Colbert stuck