For a moment it looked as if the surgeon would abandon his intention, but one of the soldiers pointed up to the ceiling. I gathered from what I could understand of his words that he could see the straw sticking out between the planks. In vain the woman protested. Two of the soldiers were able to get upon their feet and to drag her aside, while the young surgeon ran up the ladder, pushed open the trap-door, and climbed into the loft.
As he swung the door back I slipped behind it, but as luck would have it he shut it again behind him, and there we were left standing face to face.
Never have I seen a more astonished young man.
“A French officer!” he gasped.
“Hush!” said I, “hush! Not a word above a whisper.”
I had drawn my sword.
“I am not a combatant,” he said; “I am a doctor. Why do you threaten me with your sword? I am not armed.”
“I do not wish to hurt you, but I must protect myself. I am in hiding here.”
“A spy!”
“A spy does not wear such a uniform as this, nor do you find spies on the staff of an army. I rode by mistake into the heart of this Prussian corps, and I concealed myself here in the hope of escaping when they are past. I will not hurt you if you do not hurt me, but if you do not swear that you will be silent as to my presence you will never go down alive from this attic.”