Not a Frenchman," he was telling himself, "then a German, and I don't
know--yes, I do believe I know--the figure. Small, eh? Dressed in
field-grey, yet not the usual sort of uniform. Who is he? What is the
fellow? Well, I never!"

In ordinary times Henri would have made up his mind in an instant,
would have acted promptly, and would have taken in the situation
without a moment's hesitation. But now, what with that horrible
feeling of nausea which assailed him, what with his miserable brain,
which reeled and buzzed and whirled, making vision almost impossible
and hearing almost out of the question, he could not, try as he would,
collect his scattered wits. Indeed, he had no energy left with which
to make any sort of an effort; he just gaped, smiled, and certainly
grimaced at that crawling figure. He knew he was an enemy, knew that
the man he watched boded no good to his comrades, and knew also that
the fellow represented some subtle form of danger. Yet he could not
move, could do no more than gape and grin and grimace, and could not
properly realize the meaning of the situation. Then suddenly he
started, for another crawling figure came from behind him, and a hand
gripped his hand sharply.

"You, Henri! You here! And did not return! Why, you're sick! You're
half stunned still!"

It was Jules, who, finding that his chum did not return, had descended
to the gallery to find him, and, coming upon him stretched there
amongst the dead, noticed, with the help of a flickering torch, that
Henri's head hung, that perspiration dropped from his forehead, and
that his face was deadly white and pallid. Yet his coming seemed
suddenly to rouse Henri; for the latter's drooping eyelids opened
widely at once, a frown crossed his forehead, and in a moment he had
seized Jules's hand, and, tugging it, indicated that he was to lie down
beside him.

"S--s--h!"

"What's up?" demanded Jules hoarsely.

"Down!" whispered Henri; for at that moment the figure he had been
watching, and which had stretched itself flat like one of the dead,
doubtless because a Frenchman was approaching, had now begun to rise
stealthily. "Look!" he whispered, pointing, and then watched Jules's
face as the latter fixed his eyes upon that figure.

Henri noticed at once--and it was remarkable how his wits were
assembling now that Jules had stimulated them--that Jules's eyes
started, that an intent look came into them promptly, while something
appro