of the Army Service to see
how soon a conveyance could be sent out to his friend--and when he was
unable to obtain what he wanted there, he rushed from hospital to
hospital, thence to two or three doctors whom he knew of to see what
could be done. But the hospitals were already over-full and over-busy:
their ambulances were all already on the way: as for the doctors, they
were all from home--all at work where their skill was most needed--an
army of doctors, of ambulances and drivers would not suffice at this
hour to bring all the wounded in from the spot where that awful battle
was raging.

And Maurice saw time slipping by: he had already spent an hour in a
fruitless quest. He longed to see Crystal and waxed impatient at the
delay. Anon at the English hospital a kindly person--who listened
sympathetically to his tale--promised him that the ambulance which was
just setting out in the direction of Mont Saint Jean would be on the
look-out for his wounded friend by the roadside; and Maurice with a sigh
of relief felt that he had indeed done his duty and done his best.

At the English hospital Clyffurde would be splendidly looked
after--nowhere else could he find such sympathetic treatment! And
Maurice with a light heart went back to the barracks in the rue des
Comediens, where he had a wash and had his uniform cleaned. Somewhat
refreshed, though still very tired, he hurried round to the rue du
Marais, where the Comte de Cambray had his lodgings. The first sight of
Brussels had already told him the whole pitiable tale of panic and of
desolation which had filled the city in the wake of the fugitive troops.
The streets were encumbered with vehicles of every kind--carts,
barouches, barrows--with horses loosely tethered, with the wounded who
lay about on litters of straw along the edges of the pavement, in
doorways, under archways in the centre of open places, with crowds of
weeping women and crying children wandering aimlessly from place to
place trying to find the loved one who might be lying here, hurt or
mayhap dying.

And everywhere men in tattered uniforms, with grimy hands and faces, and
boots knee-deep in stains of mud, stood about or sat in the empty
carts, talking, gesticulating, giving sundry, confused and contradictory
accounts of the great battle--describing Napoleon's decisive
victory--Wellington's rout--the prolonged absence of Bluecher and the
Prussians, cause of the terrible disaster.

M. le Comte d'Artois