Grace sank on the chair near her, trembling from head to foot.
Mercy advanced to the surgeon, and put the decisive question to him.
"Do we defend the position?" she inquired. Surgeon Surville ominously shook his head.
"Impossible!
We are outnumbered as usual—ten to one."
The shrill roll of the French drums was heard outside.
"There is the retreat sounded!" said the surgeon. "The captain is not a man to think twice about what he does.
We are left to take care of ourselves.
In five minutes we must be out of this place."
A volley of rifle-shots rang out as he spoke.
The German vanguard was attacking the French at the outposts.
Grace caught the surgeon entreatingly by the arm. "Take me with you," she cried.
"Oh, sir, I have suffered from the Germans already!
Don't forsake me, if they come back!"
The surgeon was equal to the occasion; he placed the hand of the pretty Englishwoman on his breast.
"Fear nothing, madam," he said, looking as if he could have annihilated the whole German force with his own invincible arm.
"A Frenchman's heart beats under your hand.
A Frenchman's devotion protects you."
Grace's head sank on his shoulder.
Monsieur Surville felt that he had asserted himself; he looked round invitingly at Mercy.
She, too, was an attractive woman.
The Frenchman had another shoulder at her service.
Unhappily the room was dark—the look was lost on Mercy.
She was thinking of the helpless men in the inner chamber, and she quietly recalled the surgeon to a sense of his professional duties.
"What is to become of the sick and wounded?" she asked.
Monsieur Surville shrugged one shoulder—the shoulder that was free.
"The strongest among them we can take away with us," he said. "The others must be left here.
Fear nothing for yourself, dear lady.
There will be a place for you in the baggage-wagon."
"And for me, too?" Grace pleaded, eagerly.
The surgeon's invincible arm stole round the young lady's waist, and answered mutely with a squeeze.
"Take her with you," said Mercy.
"My place is with the men whom you leave behind."
Grace listened in amazement.
"Think what you risk," she said "if you stop here."
Mercy pointed to her left shoulder.
"Don't alarm yourself on my account," she answered; "the red cross will protect me."
Another roll of the drum warned the susceptible surgeon to take his place as director-general of the ambulance without any further delay.
He conducted Grace to a chair, and placed both her hands on his heart this time, to reconcile her to the misfortune of his absence.
"Wait here till I return for you," he whispered.
"Fear nothing, my charming friend.
Say to yourself,
'Surville is the soul of honor!
Surville is devoted to me!'" He struck his breast; he again forgot the obscurity in the room, and cast one look of unutterable homage at his charming friend.
"A bientot!" he cried, and kissed his hand and disappeared.
As the canvas screen fell over him the sharp report of the rifle-firing was suddenly and grandly dominated by the roar of cannon.
The instant after a shell exploded in the garden outside, within a few yards of the window.
Grace sank on her knees with a shriek of terror.
Mercy, without losing her self-possession, advanced to the window and looked out.
"The moon has risen," she said. "The Germans are shelling the village."