Helen with staring eyes and holding her breath, seemed like a statue of suspense. Nothing replied, and the little troop moved on.
From time to time Helen also stopped, and automatically, under her breath, as if she was afraid of her own voice, called in her turn, "Karl! Karl! Karl!"
They drew near the little wood and the corpses became fewer. Benedict made one of these pauses, followed by silence, and for the fifth or sixth time cried:
"Karl!"
This time, a lugubrious and prolonged cry replied, which sent a shudder through the heart of the bravest.
"What is that cry?" asked the surgeon.
"It is a dog, howling for some one's death," answered Fritz.
"Can it be?" murmured Benedict. Then he went on, "Over here! over here!" directing them towards the voice of the dog.
"My God!" cried Helen, "have you any hope?"
"Perhaps, come, come!" and without waiting for the torches he ran ahead. When he came to the edge of the wood, he cried again: