They went down stairs, leaving the young girl in the room with the wounded man. She smoothed the pillows, and looked with melancholy interest at the handsome face, pale as death.
Some infantry came down the street.
"We will find quarters in this street," cried one of them; "see, here is a nice-looking house,--let us go in,--there will be room for us all!"
Fritz Deyke came to the door at this moment with the brewer.
"Ah! there are cuirassiers here already," cried the infantry man; "is there still room, comrade?"
Fritz put his finger to his lips.
"A dangerously-wounded officer here," he said; "you must not talk so loud, nor make such a noise in marching."
"Then we must go further," said the infantry soldiers; they cast sympathizing looks at the upper windows, and walked on.
"Thank you!" said the old brewer, in a friendly voice.
Fritz Deyke led his horse through the yard gate to the stable, where he put him with the brewer's four horses. He then asked for a piece of chalk, and wrote in large letters upon the house door: "Dangerously wounded officers."