He started back for the hallway, but now came steps on the stairs, and the rattle of dishes, followed by some talking. Henry glanced around him, saw a closet in a corner of the room, and dove into it. Just as he closed the door of the closet he caught a brief glimpse of a woman with a tray, followed by a girl of about his own age. Both entered the bedchamber, closing the door tightly behind them.
A murmur of voices followed, and Henry surmised that the sleeping man had awakened, and that the two women were urging him to partake of the food they had brought. The talking was in French, so he understood but little.
Presently the girl moved across the bedchamber, and before Henry realized what was coming the door of the closet was flung open. As the young soldier was exposed to view, the girl gave a scream, and then uttered several words in French:
“A man! An English soldier!”
“What is it you say?” demanded the man in the bed, and, turning over, he drew a pistol from under his pillow.
“A man—an English soldier,” repeated the girl. “Oh, Louis, what shall we do?”
“Stand where you are!” ordered the sick man, and sat up in bed with the pistol pointed at Henry’s head.
“Oh, Louis, my son, have a care!” put in the woman. “He may kill you!”
“I am not afraid, mother,” was the answer. “You forget what risks I have taken in the past——”
“But you are still weak. The doctor——”