"As far as I know," she said; "and that boy in the third cot blew up
the bridge. I know she went out to find the wounded."

The doctor did not reply at once. He was hunting for the soldier's
identification tag. When he found it, he read it and whistled.

"Captain Riccardi!" he exclaimed. "By Jove, we can't let him die."

It could not be said that the doctor redoubled his efforts, for he was
working his best then, but he added perhaps a little more interest to
his work.

The American helped him, and Lucia, at a word from Sister Francesca,
hurried to her and helped her with what she was doing. It was not
until many hours later that she stopped working, for more wounded were
being brought in every few minutes by the other stretcher-bearers, and
there was much to do. But at last there was a lull, and Lucia ran
through the long corridor and down to the door.

She opened it a crack and looked out. Before her, stretched along the
banks of the river, were countless Austrian soldiers, staggering and
fighting in a wild attempt to run away from the guns in the wall that
mowed them down pitilessly. The officers tried to drive them on, but
the men were too terrified, they could not advance under such steady
fire. A little farther on, there was the beginning of a rude bridge.
The enemy had evidently tried to build it during the night, but had
been forced to abandon it after the Italians reached their new position.

As Lucia watched, the men seemed to form in some sort of order, and