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They bent over another who looked at
them with the terror of death in his
deep-sunk eyes.
“Do you think she will come to-day?”
he whispered to Josephine.
“It is his wife he is waiting for,” said she
softly; “he knows quite well he is dying, he
has dictated two telegrams to her to come,
and nobody has had the heart to tell him
that all the wires are cut and no message
can be sent anywhere with the Germans
swarming all round us. I am sure she will
come,” said she, gently stroking his hand.
“Have you been a nurse before?” said
the Doctor, “you are so patient and helpful
to these poor men.”
“No,” said she simply, “but you see,
Monsieur le Docteur, my boy is at the Front
and I try to say to myself that if I am patient
and kind to these poor fellows somebody
else will be kind to him if he gets wounded.
Ah! le sang, le sang! Que Dieu punisse
celui qui fait couler tant de sang!” she
suddenly cried out in terror pointing to a
pool of blood on the floor. “It is not an
hour since I washed it and there is the blood
again!” She rushed to fetch a pail of
water and began to wipe the marble floor.
The Curé looked at her with pitiful eyes.
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