"At the English hospital, I hope," said St. Genis with as much cool dignity as he could command. "Have I not assured you, Crystal, that I've done all I could? . . ."
"At the English hospital? . . . you hope? . . ." she retorted in a voice that sounded trenchant and shrill through the overwhelming passion which shook and choked it in her throat. "But the roadside—where you left him . . . to die in a ditch perhaps . . . like a dog that has no home? . . . where was that?"
"I gave full directions at the English hospital," he replied. "I arranged for an ambulance to go and find him . . . for a bed for him . . . I. . . ."
"Give me those directions," she commanded.
"On the way to Waterloo . . . on the left side of the road . . . close by the six kilomètre milestone . . . the angle of the forest of Soigne is just there . . . and there is a meadow which joins the edge of the wood where they were making hay to-day. . . . No driver can fail to find the place, Crystal . . . the ambulance. . . ."
But now she was no longer listening to him. She had abruptly turned her back on him and made for the door. Her father interposed.
"What do you want to do, Crystal?" he said peremptorily.
"Go to him, of course," she said quietly—for she was quite calm now—at any rate outwardly—strong and of set purpose.
"But you do not know where he is."
"I'll go to the English hospital first . . . father, dear, will you let me pass?"