And it was very many days before he said anything else with as much sense in it.
"God help them!" cried the Sister of Mercy, tearfully, her thin hands clasped to her lips. Alone she guided Jack into the room beyond.
Outside the Prussian bands were playing. The sun flung a long, golden beam through the window straight across Lorraine's breast.
She stirred, and murmured in her sleep, "Jack! Jack! 'Tiens ta Foy!'"
But Jack was past hearing now; and when, at sundown, the young surgeon came into his room he was nearly past all aid.
"Typhoid?" asked the Sister.
"The Pest!" said the surgeon, gravely.
The Sister started a little.
"I will stay," she murmured. "Send this despatch when you go out. Can he live?"
They whispered together a moment, stepping softly to the door of the room where Lorraine lay.