"I have no exact idea, Mademoiselle. For some hours. I could not obtain a surgeon; there was but one at the post and his hands were full. An orderly of the ambulance came with me with a cacolet and a small escort of Chasseurs. But we have not dared to remove the captain, whose fever has reached a serious height. The orderly advised that I should come direct to the town and obtain either medical help, or, if possible, one of the Dames de la Croix Rouge. But there is an epidemic of fever at the hospital and an influx of wounded from the Tirailleurs' foray of four days back. Neither surgeon nor nurse can be spared for one man."
For a moment there was silence again. Perinaud looked at her with a sort of questioning apathy, with the detached air of one having done his duty and awaiting the decrees of fate. But Daoud moved restlessly, and then broke into speech, as if some irresistible impulse moved him.
"I think my master is likely to die, Mademoiselle," he said.
And then he, too, waited, in a sort of queer, hushed expectancy, as if his words must result in some definite action.
"We have medical comforts on board," she said quickly. "We will put anything we possess at Captain Aylmer's service."
Perinaud nodded again solemnly.
"The dislocated shoulder has been dealt with, Mademoiselle, and the broken bone set. The orderly, also, has quinine for the fever, which is high. We might be doing right, perhaps, in taking back any other remedies which your intelligence can suggest."
His tone was meditative and judicial, and intimated quite distinctly that this was a side issue and not the objective of his present mission. He continued to stare at her steadily, without any tinge of offence, but with a questioning directness which spoke volumes. "I am waiting," it seemed to say. "I have given you your cue. Speak your part."
She looked from him to the Moor, read the same message in the latter's air of anticipation, and then spoke, desperately.
"What is it?" she demanded. "You want—something?"