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seemed rather to agitate his poor friend than
to soothe him, and he thought it wiser to
leave him alone, hoping he would calm down
from sheer exhaustion.
He had hardly had time to sink down again
on the bench in the sacristy when Anatole
rushed in wild with excitement.
“Ah! les assassins! les assassins!”
cried he, “they have murdered Pierre. He
was brought in by a patrol an hour ago; they
found, sewn in the lining of his waistcoat, a
letter to the Commandant of the Fort, and
they said he was a spy communicating with
the enemy, and they shot him in the Square
in front of his mother’s house. Ah! les
assassins, les assassins! Now they are going
round searching every house for food. Their
Commandant says that if they don’t get
what they want the Mayor will have to pay
a ransom of five thousand francs to-morrow
morning. They have found a cask of wine
in the cellar of the inn and they are all
getting drunk. The Mayor asked me to tell
you he dared not go away and begged you
to speak to the German surgeon for him.”
“Come quick!” called the nun from the
door.
The Bavarian had torn away his bandage
and blood was streaming from his frightful
wound. The Doctor bent over him, trying
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