The corporal was turning away. For three days San Sebastian had been
a hell, between the flames of which he had seen things that sickened
his soul. They sickened it yet, only in remembrance. Yes, and the
sickness had more than once come nigh to be physical. His throat
worked at the talk of loot, now that he knew what men did for it.

'The general ain't after the furnitcher,' answered the first speaker.
'It consarns a child.'

'A child ain't no such rarity in San Sebastian that anybody need
offer five pounds for one.'

'What's this talk about a child?' asked Sergeant Wilkes, coming in
from his rounds, and dropping to a seat by the blaze. He caught
sight of Corporal Sam standing a little way back, and nodded.

'Well, it seems that, barring this child, every soul in the house has
been killed. The place is pretty certain death to approach, and the
crittur, for all that's known, has been left without food for two
days and more. 'Tis a boy, I'm told--a small thing, not above four
at the most. Between whiles it runs to the window and looks out.
The sentries have seen it more'n a dozen times; and one told me he'd
a sight sooner look on a ghost.'

'Then why don't the Frenchies help?' some one demanded. 'There's a
plenty of 'em close by, in the convent.'

'The convent don't count. There's a garden between it and the
house, and on the convent side a blank wall--no windows at all, only
loopholes. Besides which, there's a whole block of buildings in full