McGraw©Hill/Focus/Flight To Freedom p.338////R7N19/ ***** At nine, we crept out of the room. The priest stood in the

dusk and nodded goodbye. First through the sacristy, then,

again, the church. The wan light of the sactuary lamp drew a

faint red veil before my eyes. We were returned to the night.

As we made our way, we anxiously scanned the sky. The thick

clouds were so low that they seemed near enough to touch. The door of the guide's house opened at the first knock. "Let's go!" the plump little peasant said, putting on his

leather coat. He kissed his wife and gave us some instructions. "Never walk one beside the other. Always in file, as if we

weren't together. If I stop, you stop. If I lie down flat, you

do the same. If I run, you run." My father interrupted goodnaturedly: "I'm sixty, my friend.

It's not easy for me to run, you know." The peasant suddenly froze. "Anyone who's running to save

his life has no age," he said, tightening his belt. "On your

way!" We went out into the darkness. The guide was in front, my

mother next, then me. My father brought up the rear. We kept a

distance of six or eight paces apart. It was a quarter to ten,

and the street was deserted. Our footsteps echoed as if we were

walking under an arch. Soon we left the town and found ourselves

in the vineyards. They were well©tended. But how difficult it

was to walk through them! The earth was rough and slippery,