"Wilkie Collins - The New Magdalen" - читать интересную книгу автора (Collins Wilkie)

Grace's place.
The tramping footsteps of the Germans came nearer and nearer. The voices of the
officers were audible, giving the words of command.
She seated herself at the table, waiting steadily for what was to come.
The ineradicable instinct of the sex directed her eyes to her dress, before the
Germans appeared. Looking it over to see that it was in perfect order, her eyes
fell upon the red cross on her left shoulder. In a moment it struck her that her
nurse's costume might involve her in a needless risk. It associated her with a
public position; it might lead to inquiries at a later time, and those inquiries
might betray her.
She looked round. The gray cloak which she had lent to Grace attracted her
attention. She took it up, and covered herself with it from head to foot.
The cloak was just arranged round her when she heard the outer door thrust open,
and voices speaking in a strange tongue, and arms grounded in the room behind
her. Should she wait to be discovered? or should she show herself of her own
accord? It was less trying to such a nature as hers to show herself than to
wait. She advanced to enter the kitchen. The canvas curtain, as she stretched
out her hand to it, was suddenly drawn back from the other side, and three men
confronted her in the open doorway.



CHAPTER V.
THE GERMAN SURGEON.
THE youngest of the three strangers--judging by features, complexion, and
manner--was apparently an Englishman. He wore a military cap and military boots,
but was otherwise dressed as a civilian. Next to him stood an officer in
Prussian uniform, and next to the officer was the third and the oldest of the
party. He also was dressed in uniform, but his appearance was far from being
suggestive of the appearance of a military man. He halted on one foot, he
stooped at the shoulders, and instead of a sword at his side he carried a stick
in his hand. After looking sharply through a large pair of tortoise-shell
spectacles, first at Mercy, then at the bed, then all round the room, he turned
with a cynical composure of manner to the Prussian officer, and broke the
silence in these words:
"A woman ill on the bed; another woman in attendance on her, and no one else in
the room. Any necessity, major, for setting a guard here?"
"No necessity," answered the major. He wheeled round on his heel and returned to
the kitchen. The German surgeon advanced a little, led by his professional
instinct, in the direction of the bedside. The young Englishman, whose eyes had
remained riveted in admiration on Mercy, drew the canvas screen over the doorway
and respectfully addressed her in the French language.
"May I ask if I am speaking to a French lady?" he said.
"I am an Englishwoman," Mercy replied.
The surgeon heard the answer. Stopping short on his way to the bed, he pointed
to the recumbent figure on it, and said to Mercy, in good English, spoken with a
strong German accent.
"Can I be of any use there?"
His manner was ironically courteous, his harsh voice was pitched in one sardonic
monotony of tone. Mercy took an instantaneous dislike to this hobbling, ugly old