"That was cheering. That you might get into some scrape or other, we could reasonably believe; but, as you had your man with you, we could hardly suppose that misfortune had fallen upon both of you."
"The wound is a mere graze. I will tell you, after parade, what I have been doing," Desmond said, "but you must nurse your curiosity till you are dismissed."
A few minutes after Desmond reached his quarters, the surgeon came in.
"I do not think that I have any need of your services, doctor. I got a piece of plaster, and stuck it on two hours ago, and I have no doubt that the wound will heal in a few days."
"However, I will, with your permission, take it off, Mr. Kennedy. It is much better that the wound should be properly washed, and some dressing applied to it. It will heal all the quicker, and you are less likely to have an ugly scar.
"It is a pretty deep graze," he said, after he had carefully removed the plaster. "An eighth of an inch farther, and it would have made your teeth rattle. You had better keep quiet, today. Tomorrow morning, if there is no sign of inflammation, I will take off the dressing and bandage and put on a plaster--one a third of the size that I took off will be sufficient; and as I will use a pink plaster, it will not be very noticeable, if you go outside the barracks.
"Where is your man? The colonel told me there were two patients.
"A nasty cut," he said, after examining Mike's wound. "It is lucky that it was not a little higher. If it had been, you would have bled to death in five minutes. As it is, it is not serious. You will have to keep your arm in a sling for a fortnight. You are not to attend parade, or mount a horse, until I give you leave."
On the ride from Versailles, Desmond had warned Mike to say no word as to the events of the night.
"I do not know what course the young lady's father may take," he said, "and until I do, the matter had better be kept a secret, altogether."