In another minute she turned and went back to the dressing-stations where there was much cleaning up to be done—or as much as could be done—before the next stretcher arrived. Yet it did not come. The room, the table, the instruments had been put in order; the great Bonsecours sat resting on a box, and the other nurses had stepped outside the entrance, furtively watching. It seemed incredible that in all the head-splitting noises so near to them there should not be wounded men for the gathering!
"I don't understand it," he arose and crossed to Marian. "But, surely, some will be here soon!"—for, unlike Barrow's unit stationed a hundred yards away, his orderlies and assistants had been trained in many battles. There could be only one answer if they remained out much longer!—and he would then go himself, to fetch his own cases. He had done it many times before, which was one of the reasons the French army worshipped him.
"I'll run up and look," she cried.
"No, I'm afraid," he said.
"The great Bonsecours afraid?" she laughed—for, no matter how tired her own body might feel, she always managed to laugh when he showed signs of great fatigue.
"Afraid I could not live if anything happened to you, mon chère," he murmured.
A startled look flashed into her eyes, slightly different than that caused by the excitement of battle. Many weeks ago her intuition had measured the strength of this man's love for her, and had seen with unerring accuracy his honorable resistance to its pleading, when, during temporary lulls in their work, he might have spoken. That he had said this much now, indicated an overpowering mental and physical exhaustion. Even as she realized this, he realized his weakness, and hastened to add:
"I will go; you must stay inside."
"No, no," she sprang between him and the dug-out entrance. "You are so tired! I know you've not slept for two days!"
"Have you?" he smiled at her.