knowledge. When she stood up with him she saw John and McClane coming to
her. She lowered her man gently back on to the stretcher.

The Flamand, thinking that she had given it up and that he was now
abandoned to the Germans, groaned.

"It's all right," she said. "He's coming."

She saw McClane holding John by the arm, and in her pain there was a
sharper pang. She had the illusion of his being dragged back unwillingly.

McClane smiled as he came to her. He glanced at the Flamand lying heaped
on his stretcher.

"He's been too much for you, has he?"

"Too much--? Yes."

Instantly she saw that John had lied, and instantly she backed his lie.
She hated McClane thinking she had failed; but anything was better than
his knowing the truth.

John and McClane picked up the stretcher and went on quickly. Charlotte
walked beside the Flamand with her hand on his shoulder to comfort him.
Again her pity was like love.

From the top of the village she could see the opening of the lane. Down
there was the house with the tall green door where the dead man was. John
had _said_ he was dead.