"Beware of opening the shutter, for fear of the light being seen
through the window. For the rest, we are free to make ourselves
as comfortable here as we can. Compose yourself, dear madam, and
rely on the protection of a Frenchman who is devoted to you!" He
gallantly emphasized his last words by raising the hand of the
English lady to his lips. At the moment when he kissed it the
canvas screen was again drawn aside. A person in the service of
the ambulance appeared, announcing that a bandage had slipped,
and that one of the wounded men was to all appearance bleeding to
death. The surgeon, submitting to destiny with the worst possible
grace, dropped the charming Englishwoman's hand, and returned to
his duties in the kitchen. The two ladies were left together in
the room.
"Will you take a chair, madam?" asked the nurse.
"Don't call
me 'madam,'" returned the young lady, cordially. "My name is
Grace Roseberry. What is your name?"
The nurse hesitated. "Not a pretty name, like yours," she said,
and hesitated again. "Call me 'Mercy Merrick,' " she added, after
a moment's consideration.
Had she given an assumed name? Was there some unhappy celebrity
attached to her own name? Miss Roseberry did not wait to ask
herself these questions.
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