We took our passes to the mayor once more. He received us angrily.
"I told you yesterday," he said.
"The War Office sent us," said Jan, sweetly, "and said that you must
give us bread."
"I have no bread," said the mayor. "You must go to Colonel
Milhaelovitch."
We tramped back to the yellow school. There was no sentry, and a queer
air of forlornness seemed to pervade. We asked a loiterer for the
colonel's office. He pointed. We climbed yet another stair and found a
pair of large rooms; they were empty. Town papers were scattered on the
floor, one table was overturned.
A man lounged in. "Where is the colonel?" we asked.
"Ne snam bogami," he said, twisting a cigarette.
"Well, find out," said Jan.
He lounged away and presently returned with another.
"The colonel has evacuated," said the other; "he went naturally with the
Ministry of War to Rashka last night."
We went back in a fury to the mayor.
"You knew this," we cried angrily to him.
He shrugged his shoulders.
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