Mary Brander was, as usual, called before daylight by Margot, and was dressing when a sound like the rumbling of a heavy wagon, caused her to pause suddenly, and then hurry to the window and throw it open.  
"They have begun again," she exclaimed, "and the firing is heavier than it was before. It comes from the east. It must be Trochu's force engaged again."
 
She hastily completed her toilet, drank off the coffee Margot had got ready for her, and then started on her way to the ambulance.
 
"It is louder than ever," she exclaimed. "It must be a terrible battle."
 
The roar of the cannon never ceased. The windows and doors were all open as she went along, and women in various states of dishabille were talking excitedly to each other from the former across the street; while the men, equally excited, were discussing the battle in groups. All agreed that the forts in the loop of the Marne were engaged. This caused some disappointment.
 
"We can't be so far out as we thought," one said, "or we should be beyond range of the guns."
 
"Perhaps the Germans are attacking us," an old man suggested, but the idea was received with derision, and Mary caught no more of the conversation as she hurried along.
 
It was an absolute relief to her when she entered the ambulance, for the continued roar of the guns and the thought of what was going on were well nigh intolerable to her nerves, and her hands were shaking as she removed her bonnet and cloak. Even the quiet hospital tents shared in the excitement outside. The patients whose hurts were comparatively slight were sitting up in their beds discussing the battle eagerly. Others more seri[Pg 173]ously hurt raised their heads to listen, while some lying apparently unconscious moaned and moved uneasily, muttering occasionally incoherent words, the quiver in earth and air arousing a dim sense of battle and danger.
 
"More work for us," Dr. Swinburne said, as he passed her, while she was trying to soothe a restless patient into quiet again.
 
"I am afraid so, Doctor, and by the sound it will be even worse than the last."
 
"The loss is not always proportionate to the noise," he said, cheerfully, "the forts may be merely preparing a way for a general advance. They said it was to begin this morning."
 
As before it was not until evening that the wounded began to come in. Those who were first brought were sombre and depressed. It was the Germans who were attacking; the French had been surprised and badly beaten. But later on the news was better. Champigny had been nobly defended, the French had rallied, and, after hard fighting, the Prussians were driven back and all the ground lost recovered. Some of the wounded had been among those who had defended Champigny. To these Mary put the question she had asked of others who were not too severely wounded to be able to talk. "Who had taken part in the fight?" The mobiles and the line had all been engaged.
 
"But there were no National Guards, Nurse."
 
"Had they seen any Franc-tireurs?"
 
Hitherto the answer to the question had been, no; but the men from Champigny gave a different answer.
 
Yes, a corps had fought there; they did not know who they were. They were dressed in gray. Whoever they were they fought like tigers. It was they, they all agreed, who saved Champigny.
 
"The Prussians were advancing," one said, "and we could not have held out much longer. They were advancing by the road, and through the gardens; it was all over with us, when the men in gray came up."
 
"I was at the barricade," one said, "there were not twenty[Pg 174] of us left there when a company arrived. If they had fought in a hundred battles they could not have done better. They had their colonel with them. A fine old militaire. He was killed by my side. The Prussians never got a foot further, for though we were hard pressed again and again we held our ground till the cowards, who had run, began to come back again. It was hot, mademoiselle. I can tell you it was a rain-storm of bullets, and their shell fell every moment among us, and it would have been all up with them if the batteries had not silenced their guns."
 
"I was in one of the houses," his comrade put in; "we were doing our best to prevent the Prussians coming up through the gardens behind, but there were but few of us, and they were some hundreds strong. If they had gone on they would have caught us all in a trap, and we were just going to warn the others to fall back when we saw the Franc-tireurs come running up. They were smart fellows as well as brave ones. They knocked loopholes through a wall in no time and clung to it for an hour, at least. Then the Prussians were reinforced heavily. The Franc-tireurs fell back to the next wall, and when the Prussians rushed forward, they gave it them hotly while we took them in flank from the houses; they must have a hundred and fifty men left behind them when they rushed back to the wall they had advanced from.
 
"And did the Franc-tireurs suffer much?" Mary asked.
 
"I should say they lost more than half their number. When they formed up after the fighting was over and the Prussians driven back, we gave them a hearty cheer. I believe there were three companies of them when they came up, and altogether there were not more than a strong company paraded. You must not think that all the others were killed, mad'moiselle," seeing by Mary's face that the news was terrible to her. "Of those who didn't parade you may reckon that two-thirds were only wounded."
 
"Not so many as that," the other, who had not observed Mary's face, said, "they were not the fellows to fall out for a slight wound. Why, the best part of those who paraded had[Pg 175] hurts, and I fancy some of them were serious, though they did their best to make light of it, and waved their caps when we cheered them. You may be sure that those who were missing must have been hard hit indeed."
 
"Imbecile beast," his comrade growled, as Mary moved silently away, "could you not see by her face that the girl had friends in that corps? Didn't you notice how pleased she looked when we praised their bravery and how white her face came, when I said what their losses were. I tried to comfort her by making out that most of the missing might be only wounded, and then, imbecile that you are, you break in with your talk and as good as tell her that if they ain't all dead, they are likely to be so before long."
 
"I would have bit my tongue out before I would have said so," the other said, penitently, "but I did not notice her looks. Do you think I would have said it if I had, just as she had been bandaging our wounds, too, like a little mother."
 
The Franc-tireurs remained in the village all night, and as soon as they fell out had scattered over the whole ground, collected the dead and laid them together and brought the wounded into the houses.
 
The soldier's estimate was not far wrong; the number of the dead exceeded that of the wounded and most of these were very seriously hurt. Of those found lying behind the walls many had been killed outright, being struck on the head by bullets through the loopholes, behind which they were firing; but of those hit during the retreat, or when at last they took the offensive, many of the wounds, though of a disabling, were not of a fatal nature. The company on the other side of the village had not been pressed so severely, but the Prussian shell had fallen thickly there, and a large proportion of the wounds were caused by fragments of shell or stone. The company which held the barricade had comparatively few wounded, but had lost half their number by bullets through the head as they fired over its crest.
 
It was hard work, indeed, for the surgeons and nurses that night. For many nothing could be done, they were beyond the[Pg 176] reach of surgical aid; but not only was there the work of bandaging wounds, but of giving drink and soup to all that could take them, of writing down last messages to friends from those among the dying who retained their consciousness, or in aiding Dr. Swinburne and his assistant in their work, and in temporarily bandaging the wounds of those for whom nothing else could be done till daylight. At eight o'clock next morning an ambulance wagon drew up to the door and an orderly came in to the doctor with a message.
 
"I have six wounded here. The surgeon told me to tell you that one of them had particularly wished to be brought up to your ambulance, and as the others all belonged to the same corps I was to leave them here."
 
"I will see if there is room," the doctor said, and calling one of the gentlemen who aided in the service of the ambulance, asked him, "Do you know, Wilson, how many have died in the night?"
 
"Eight or ten, Doctor."
 
"Well, get Phillips and Grant to help you to carry out six of them; lay them in that empty tent for the present. As soon as you have done that bring the six wounded in from the wagon outside."
 
In a few minutes the injured men were brought in.
 
"Ah, they are Franc-tireurs," the doctor said.
 
"They are Franc-tireurs des écoles," the orderly, who had accompanied them, said; "the surgeon said they were all students. They deserve good treatment, Doctor, for no men could have fought better than they did. Everyone says that they saved Champigny."
 
"Put them together, Wilson, if you can, or at any rate in pairs. They are students of the University, the art schools, and so on. If there are not two empty beds together put them anywhere for the present; we can shift the beds about in a day or two when we get breathing-time."
 
"There are two vacant beds in No. 2 marque, Doctor."
 
The doctor stepped to the litter that had just been carried in. Its occupant was sensible.[Pg 177]
 
"Is there any one of your comrades you would prefer to be placed in the bed next to you?" he asked in French.
 
"Yes, Doctor," he replied in English. "The tall fellow who was next to me in the wagon. I am a countryman of yours, and he is an Englishman, and we are in the same art school."
 
"An American?" Dr. Swinburne replied. "I am glad, indeed, they brought you here. You may be sure that we will do everything we can to make you comfortable. I will attend to you directly I have seen the others brought in."
 
Mary Brander's heart gave a bound as she saw the wounded man brought in, for she recognized the uniform at once. A glance, however, at the dark head reassured her. As soon as the stretcher was laid down by the bed which-was the last in the line, and the wounded man was lifted on to it she went as usual with a glass of weak spirits and water to his side.
 
"Will you drink, monsieur," she asked, in French.
 
"I am an American," he said, with a faint smile, "as I suppose you are."
 
"No, I am English, which is nearly the same thing."
 
"I must trouble you to hold it to my lips," he said, "for as you see my right arm is useless, my collar-bone is broken, I believe, and my shoulder-blade smashed. However, it might be worse."
 
She held a glass to his lips. As he drank a sudden thought struck her.
 
"Are you Arnold Dampierre?" she asked.
 
"That is certainly my name," he said, "though I cannot think how you guess it."
 
"I have heard of you from a friend of mine, Cuthbert Harrington. Can you tell me, sir, if he is hurt?"
 
"Then you must be Miss Brander. Yes, I am sorry to say he is hurt. I don't know how badly," he went on hurriedly, as he saw the look of pain in her face. "I did not see him until we were put in the wagon next to each other, and he was not much up to talking, and in fact its motion was too much for him and he fainted, but no doubt he will soon come round. They are bringing him into the next bed. Perhaps it will be[Pg 178] better for you if you were to let one of the other nurses attend to him until he comes round a bit."
 
But Mary shook her head silently. She had been trembling as she asked the question, but she stood stiff and rigid as Cuthbert was brought up. She gave one short gasp when she saw his face as they lowered the litter to the ground. Then she hurried to the table on which the glasses were standing, poured some brandy into a tumbler, and was turning when the surgeon entered the tent. She put down the glass, hurried up to him, and laid a fluttering hand on his arm.
 
"Come, Doctor; please come quickly."
 
A momentary flash of surprise crossed his face. However, he said nothing but quickened his steps and stood by the pallet on to which Cuthbert had just been lifted. A shade passed over his face; he put his hand on Cuthbert's wrist, then knelt down and placed his ear over his heart.
 
"Is he dead?" Mary asked in a whisper, as he rose to his feet again.
 
"No, no, my dear, I hope he is worth many dead men yet; he has fainted from the jolting of the wagon just as many others that you have seen have done. Fetch that brandy you have just poured out. He is hard hit," and he pointed to a bloodstained patch in his shirt just above the waistband of his trousers. "There is no doubt about that, but we shall know more about it presently."
 
As she hurried off to fetch the brandy the doctor's lips tightened.
 
"It is fifty to one against him," he muttered, "still, I have seen men live with similar wounds."
 
He took the glass from Mary's hands as she returned and poured a little between Cuthbert's lips. Then he listened to the heart's beating again.
 
"It is stronger already," he said, encouragingly to Mary. "Now, my dear, you had better go out for a few minutes and get a little fresh air. Ask Mrs. Stanmore to come here. I must try and find out where the bullet has gone." As she moved away he went on, "Wait here a minute, Wilson, I shall[Pg 179] want to turn him over directly. Now for the wound. Ah! I thought so!" as he removed a lightly fastened bandage and lifted a pad of lint beneath it.
 
"There has been no bleeding since he was taken up. No doubt he fell forward at first. Now turn him over. Ah, the bullet has gone right through! He must have been hit by a shot fired at close quarters. Well, that will save us trouble and the chances of complications. It is now a simple question of how much dam............