"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.
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