Mary glanced at the speaker's companion and at once recognized her. It was the face of which she had seen so many drawings in Cuthbert's sketch-book.
"It is not possible to-day," she said, "except in extreme cases. There have been many applicants, but they have all been refused."
"I fear this is an extreme case," René, for it was he, urged. "It is a comrade of mine, and the surgeon told me after examining him that he was hit very seriously. This lady is his fiancée."
"I know who you mean," Mary said, after a moment's silence, "but she could not see him even if she were his wife. He is asleep now and everything depends upon his sleep being unbroken."
"If I could only see him I would not wake him," the woman wailed, while René asked—
"Can you tell us if there are any hopes for him?"
"The surgeon says there are some hopes," Mary said, coldly, "but that everything depends upon his being kept perfectly quiet. However, I have no power in the matter. I am off duty now, and you had better apply to Mrs. Stanmore. She is in charge of the ward. It is the farthest of the three marquees."
"What is that woman to him?" Minette exclaimed, passionately, as Mary walked on. "She loves him or she hates him. I saw her look at me as you spoke first, and her face changed. She knew me though I did not know her."
"Oh, that is all fancy, Minette. How can she know Arnold? She is tired and worn out. Parbleu, they must have had terrible work there since the sortie began. It is getting dark, but it is easy to see how pale and worn out she looked. For my part I would rather go through that fight in the garden again than work for twenty-four hours in a hospital."
"She knows him," the girl said, positively.