Max. With starving men?
Lop. We’re starving, but our foes are starved.
Our ammunition fails, but theirs has failed—
(A shell breaks near them)
Salm. That, sir, unspeaks your words.
Lop. Not so. One shell
But tells how few they are, for yesterday
They fell in numbers. And to the north, you say,
The guns are silent.
Salm. Sire, a moment lost
May mean the loss of all.
(Enter Dupin with two prisoners. Lopez goes to meet him)
Dupin. What did you mean by your infernal order to bring these men here? Don’t you know old Saint-face won’t let them be shot?
Lop. Keep quiet. They are my captives, not yours.
Dup. I ’ve plugged just ninety-eight this week, and it ’s too bad not to make an even hundred.