"Where did you feel it?" Stewart demanded. "Not in the body? Tell me the truth!" "It seemed to me to be somewhere below the knee. But how savage you are!" "I'm savage because you are hurt. I can't stand it to see you suffer!" and with lips compressed, he bandaged the wound with some strips torn from the sheet. Then he ran his fingers down over the calf, and brought them away stained with blood. He caught up his knife and ripped the cloth clear down. "Really," she protested, "I shall not have any clothing left, if you keep on like that! I do not see how I am going to appear in public as it is!" He grimly washed the blood away without replying. On either side of the calf, he found a tiny black spot where the second bullet had passed through. "These German bullets seem to be about the size of peas," he remarked, as he bandaged the leg; then he raised his head and listened, as the firing outside rose to a furious crescendo. "They're at it again!" he added. "We must be getting out of this!" She reached up, caught him by the coat, and drew him down to her. "Listen," she said. "The letters are in your pocket. Should we be separated----" "We will not be separated," he broke in, impatiently. "Do you suppose I would permit anything to separate us now?" "I know, dear one," she said, softly. "But if we should be, you will carry the letters to General Joffre? Oh, do not hesitate!" she cried. "Promise me! They mean so much to me--my life's work--all my ambitions--all my hopes----" "Very well," he said. "I promise." "You have not forgotten the sign and the formula?" "No." She passed an arm about his neck and drew him still closer. "Kiss me!" she whispered. And Stewart, shaken, transported, deliriously happy, pressed his lips to hers in a long, close, passionate embrace. At last she drew her arm away. "I am very tired," she whispered, smiling dreamily up at him; "and very, very happy. I do not believe I can go on, dear one." "I will get a wagon of some kind--a hand-cart, if nothing better. There must be ambulances somewhere about----" He paused, listening, for the firing at the barricade had started furiously again. "I will be back in a moment," he said, and ran to the street door and looked out. As he did so, a wounded soldier hobbled past, using his rifle as a crutch. "How goes it?" Stewart inquired, in French. "We hold them off," answered the soldier, smiling cheerfully, though his face was drawn with pain. "Will they break through?" "No. Our reënforcements are coming up," and the little soldier hobbled away down the street. "I should have asked him where the ambulances are," thought Stewart. He glanced again toward the barricade. The firing had slackened; evidently the assailants had again been repulsed. Yes, there was time, and he darted down the street after the limping soldier. He was at his side in a moment. "Where are the ambulances?" he asked.