There was cold terror in Henri's heart. He ran madly, throwing aside
his cape as he went. More shells fell ahead in the street. Once in the
darkness he fell flat over the body of a horse. There was a steady
groaning from the ditch near by. But he got up and ran on, a strange
figure with his flying hair and his German uniform.
He was all but stabbed by Rene when he entered the little house.
"Mademoiselle?" Henri gasped, holding Rene's bayonet away from his
heaving chest.
"I am here," said Sara Lee's voice from the little _salle a manger_.
"Let them carry in the wounded. I am getting ready hot water and
bandages. There is not much space, for the corner of the room has been
shot away."
She was as dead white in the candlelight, but very calm.
"You cannot stay here," Henri panted. "At any time--"
Another shell fell, followed by the rumble of falling walls.
"Some one must stay," said Sara Lee. "There must be wounded in the
streets. Marie is in the cellar."
Henri pleaded passionately with her to go to the cellar, but she refused.
He would have gathered her up in his arms and carried her there, but
Jean came in, leading a wounded man, and Henri gave up in despair.
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