"Is your Colonel living?" she asked.
"Yes, yesterday he was still alive."
"And to-day?"
"Don't know. Haven't heard anything about him."
I felt confident that he was yet living. I could not think that the strong, powerful man could be dead, and my hopefulness helped to support Bertha. We reached the house from which the white flag with the red cross was floating. I commanded my daughter to remain seated in the wagon, and to inquire of no one until I returned. She gave me her promise, but she could not keep her word, and it was indeed requiring too much of her. She saw her husband's servant, and called to him, and the lad said, "The Colonel is living, but--"
"But what?"
"He is very low."
We entered the house, and the first one we met was Annette.
"Be composed, Bertha! he lives. I came here immediately on receiving the intelligence of his being wounded, that I might do all that was possible for him," she said. She embraced her friend, and added, that we could not see him: he could not bear the shock.
The Professor begged that he, at least, might be admitted. Annette called the doctor, and he gave permission to the Professor to see the wounded man.