"No; go and stay with her. If I need you I will send."

He could scarcely hear her in the tumult and din, but he
understood and nodded, watching her busy with her lint and
bandages. As he turned to go, the first of the wounded, a mere
boy, was brought in on the shoulders of a comrade. Jack heard him
scream as they laid him on the table; then he went soberly away
to the cellar where Lorraine sat, her face in her hands.

"We are holding the Chateau," he said. "Will you stay quietly for
a little while longer, if I go out again?"

"If you wish," she said.

He longed to take her in his arms. He did not; he merely said,
"Wait for me," and went away again out into the smoke.

From the upper-story windows, where he had climbed, he could see
to the edge of the forest. Already three columns of men had
started out from the trees across the meadow towards the park
wall. They advanced slowly and steadily, firing as they came on.
Somewhere, in the smoke, a Prussian band was playing gayly, and
Jack thought of the Bavarians at the Geisberg, and their bands
playing as the men fell like leaves in the Chateau gardens.

He had his field-glasses with him, and he fixed them on the
advancing columns. They were Bavarians, after all--there was no
mistaking the light-blue uniforms and fur-crested helmets. And
now he made out their band, plodding stolidly along, trombones
and bass-drums wheezing and banging away in the rifle-smoke; he
could even see the band-master swinging his halberd forward.

Suddenly the nearest column broke into a heavy run, cheering
hoarsely. The other columns came on with a rush; the band halted,
playing them in at the death with a rollicking quickstep; then
all was blotted out in the pouring cannon-smoke. Flash on flash
the explosions followed each other, lighting the gloom with a
wavering yellow glare, and on the terrace the gatling whirred and
spluttered its slender streams of flame, while the treble crash
of the chassepots roared accompaniment.

Once or twice Jack thought he heard the rattle of their little
harsh, flat drums, but he could see them no longer; they were in
that smoke-pall somewhere, coming on towards the park wall.

Bugles began to sound--French bugles--clear and sonorous. Across
the lawn by the river a battalion of French infantry were
running, firing as they ran. He saw them settle at last like
quail among the stubble, curling up and crouching in groups and
bevies, alert heads raised. The