The little infirmier was absent on some mission from the ward when the first of the enemy arrived. Belinda, boiling instruments and writing up temperature charts just as though she expected the usual visit of the doctor, suddenly heard the hurried tramp of feet without. A command in German to "ground arms" followed. The door swung inward.
A man in steel helmet and long cloak strode into the ward. She heard the clank of his equipment as he stepped across the threshold.
Turning to let the door swing to, his eye caught the trophy of flags upon the end wall of the ward. The sight seemed to fire him with wrath.
He threw open his cloak and drew the saber from its scabbard with a single gesture.
He uttered an angry ejaculation, and with a sweeping blow cut the banners from their fastenings. As they fell he trampled upon them with his muddy boots.
He had not seen Belinda. She had risen shakingly at his entrance; but at this insult to the colors she flung herself forward, crying in English:
"Stop! You shall not!"
There was a rumble of excited voices behind her from the Germans on the cots. The officer swung about, his sword ready to receive the attack her cry seemed to threaten. When he saw it was but one woman he dropped the point of the weapon and strode a single pace forward, staring at her with dawning amazement.
The banners, entangled in his heavy boots, were kicked forward along the boards. The small American flag, broken from its wand, slithered to her feet. Belinda stooped, scarcely knowing why she did so, seized the silken flag and crumpling it as she rose again, thrust it into the bosom of her blouse.
"Ist es möglich?" gasped the corporal, thrusting back his helmet She saw his features and an answering cry broke from her lips: