“No, Miss Lucy, it is better so,” Elizabeth objected. “With the guns firing no one hears Mr. Bob’s machine.”
“Of course!” Lucy exclaimed, suddenly welcoming the vibrations of the cannon against her ears. “Why didn’t I think of that! Oh, Elizabeth, I can’t bear to think of the risk he runs. I wish he were not coming.”
“Be sure he comes not unless a good chance he has,” Elizabeth reassured her. “He said only ‘I shall try.’”
They had covered half a mile, through streets leading to the town’s outskirts by a more southerly direction than the way Lucy had taken the day before. Now, at the corner of a street that remained quite undamaged, a sentry stood out from the shadow of the wall. Elizabeth gave a sharp glance at his tall, thin figure, and, as they drew nearer and the man brought his gun to the challenge, she called out in German:
“Well, Hans Eberhardt, don’t you know me yet? You’re younger than I am, and should have better eyes.”
“WHO’S THAT WITH YOU?”
The soldier lowered his piece and said with a laugh, “It was your footsteps I was going to challenge, Frau Müller. I couldn’t see you in this murk.” Then, as the two approached him, he added, “But who’s that with you?”
“Just a little girl who helps in the hospital. I’m going to take her home to sleep.”
Lucy, trying to follow the rapid German speech, felt her heart pound at these words. But the sentry offered no objection, inquiring sleepily of Elizabeth as she paused close by him, “Isn’t it eleven o’clock yet, Frau? I must have been on guard here almost a week.”