e or outside?"

Mercy glanced distrustfully at Ignatius Wetzel. He was again absorbed
in his endless examination of the body on the bed. If she left him alone
with Mr. Holmcroft, there was no knowing what the hateful old man might
not say of her. She answered:

"Wait for me outside, if you please."

The sentinel drew back with a military salute at the sight of the pass.
All the French prisoners had been removed; there were not more than
half-a-dozen Germans in the kitchen, and the greater part of them were
asleep. Mercy took Grace Roseberry's clothes from the corner in which
they had been left to dry, and made for the shed--a rough structure of
wood, built out from the cottage wall. At the front door she encountered
a second sentinel, and showed her pass for the second time. She spoke
to this man, asking him if he understood French. He answered that he
understood a little. Mercy gave him a piece of money, and said: "I am
going to pack up my luggage in the shed. Be kind enough to see that
nobody disturbs me." The sentinel saluted, in token that he understood.
Mercy disappeared in the dark interior of the shed.

Left alone with Surgeon Wetzel, Horace noticed the strange old man still
bending intently over the English lady who had been killed by the shell.

"Anything remarkable," he asked, "in the manner of that poor creature's
death?"

"Nothing to put in a newspaper," retorted the cynic, pursuing his
investigations as attentively as ever.

"Interesting to a doctor--eh?" said Horace.

"Yes. Interesting to a doctor," was the gruff reply.

Horace good-humoredly accepted the hint implied in those words. He
quitted the room by the door leading into the yard, and waited for the
charming Englishwoman, as he had been instructed, outside the cottage.

Left by himself, Ignatius Wetzel, after a first cautious look all round
him, opened the upper part of Grace's dress, and laid his left hand on
her heart. Taking a little steel instrument from his waistcoat pocket
with the other hand, he applied it carefully to the wound, raised a
morsel of the broken and depressed bone of the skull, and waited for the
result. "Aha!" he cried, addressing with a terrible gayety the
senseless creature under his hands. "The Frenchman says you are dead,
my dear--does he? The Frenchman is a Quack! The Frenchman is an Ass!"
He lifted his head, and called into the kitchen. "Max!" A sleepy young
German, covered with a dresser's apron from his chin