"the uniform shows I am not a franc tireur;
and so will prevent my being hung, and you having your house burnt
over your head. Besides which, I should be entitled to be treated
as an officer. My uniform is the best protection for us all.

"Have you any news of what is going on?"

"We heard firing yesterday," the woman said, "and today we can hear
a constant booming, from the direction of Orleans."

Ralph listened, but the bandage prevented his hearing anything.

"You are very kind," he said, "but you can hardly think how I want
to be off. However, I fear that I am here for a week, at the very
least. Just think what I am missing."

"It seems to me," the woman said, "you are missing a great many
chances of being killed; which I should consider to be a very
fortunate miss, indeed. I should not like Jacques to have that gash
on the head; but I would a great deal rather that he was lying here
wounded, just as you are, than to know that he was in the middle of
all that fighting at Orleans.

"Be patient, my friend. We will do our best for you. If you have no
fever, tomorrow, Jacques will try and buy some meat and some wine
for you, at one of the villages; and then you will soon get quite
strong."

When Ralph had eaten his breakfast, he again laid down; and his
kind hostess left him, as her husband was obliged to be out and at
work, and it was necessary that she should be at home, to answer
any straggling troops of the enemy who might pass.

"I wish I had Tim with me," Ralph said, to himself. "Tim would
amuse me, and make me laugh. It would be desperately cold for him.
I am all right, under my blanket and this warm coat. Well, I
suppose I must try to sleep as many hours away as I can."

Chapter 20: Crossing The Lines.

Ralph was destined to a longer stay upon his hay bed in the loft
than he had anticipated. The next day, instead of being better he
was a good deal worse. Inflammation had again set in, and he was
feverish and incoherent in his talk. He was conscious of this,
himself, by seeing the dismay in the face of the nurse, when he had
been rambling on to her for some time, in English.

At last, with an effort, he commanded his attention, and said to
her:

"How far is it from here to Orleans?"

"Seventeen miles," she said.

"Look here," he said, "you are very kind, and I know that you do
not want to be paid for your kindness; but I am well off, and I
know you have lost your horse and cow, and so yo