"Oh no. But your men talk too much among themselves, and our spies are through your camps night and day. They all speak French, you see, and uniforms are easy to get, whereas none of your people speak Russian well enough to pass muster for a moment. I can even tell you that the attack will be all French--Zouaves, Marines, and Chasseurs, under three thousand in all, and the General Monet will be in command. They will walk right up into the trap and will all be killed or captured." "It is sheer murder." "What would you? It is war; and after all, though I hate Russia, one cannot help remembering that she did not invite you to come here. We will wait here. It is not yet time." "Why aren't you up there yourself?" "I was in the last sortie and it is not my turn, _Dieu merci!_ for it will be hot up there to-night. There are plenty of us, you see, and we take fair turns." All was dark and still up along the distant hill-side, so void of offence that Jim began to wonder if Greski had not made a mistake. But after several impatient glances at his watch by the glow of his cigar, he said at last: "Now--it is time! Watch!--over there!" But the minutes passed--long, long minutes, almost the longest Jim had ever lived through. "Doesn't seem coming off," he jerked. "Wait!" jerked Greski, at tension also. "They were to start at midnight. They have a quarter-mile to cover, and they will go cautiously because the ground behind there is bad. We are to let them come right up and--ah--_voilà!_" as the darkness behind the new fort blazed and roared and became an inferno of deadly strife; terrific volleys of musketry and the hoarse shouting of men--no big guns, and presently even the firing became desultory, but the turmoil waxed louder and louder. Greski danced with excitement. "_Mon Dieu!_ but they are fighting!--hand to hand! They are devils to fight, those Zouaves. I wish--I wish--but it is not safe here to wish." The turmoil came rolling round this side of the hill; the Russians were falling back. Then flaming volleys broke out on each side of the turmoil. "Ah--ah--ah! Supports from Korniloff," jerked Greski. And then suddenly the Malakoff and Redan big guns blazed out, and poured an avalanche of shot and shell and rockets on the gallant attack, and it withered and melted away. "Two--three thousand men in pieces, and as you were!" was Greski's summing up. "Infernal butchery," growled Jim, much worked up. "What would you, my friend? It is war." And they went soberly home, thinking of the horrors of the red hill-side and all the broken men who lay there, while all the church bells in the town clashed pæans of victory overhead as they went. The one bright ray to Jim, in this time of gloom, was the fact that Jack was without doubt slowly improving, to the great satisfaction and greater surprise of his wearied but unwearying nurses and the Grand Duke's doctor.