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Updated: July 8, 2025
The hospital ship could accommodate ten more patients, so it was decided to make a trip to Dixmude, where an artillery engagement was raging, with the larger ambulance. "I think I shall go to-day," announced Gys, who was wearing his mask. "Dr. Kelsey can look after the patients and it will do me good to get off the ship." Uncle John looked at the doctor seriously.
"He will live, then, you think?" she asked softly, marveling that after what she had witnessed the man was still able to breathe. Gys leaned down and put his ear to the heart of the patient. For two minutes he remained motionless. Then he straightened up and a smile spread over his disfigured features. "I confidently believe, Miss Stanton, we have turned the trick!
Gys crawled up the mound of sand in front of them and cautiously raised his head above the ridge. Next instant he ducked to escape a rain of bullets that scattered the sand about them like a mist. "That was foolish," said Patsy reprovingly. "You might have been killed." "No such luck," he muttered in reply, but the girl could see that he trembled slightly with nervousness.
Gys had removed several bits of exploded shell and dressed the wound, shaking his head discouragingly. But since the young man was still breathing, with a fairly regular respiration, no attempt was made to restore him to his senses. The third seriously injured was a French sergeant whose body was literally riddled with shrapnel. A brief examination had convinced Gys that the case was hopeless.
"It was a shell," she said, "and perhaps exploded behind him. It's a bad wound, Dr. Gys says, but if he regains strength he may recover." During this conversation Patsy Doyle was lying in her stateroom below and crying bitterly, while her cousin Beth strove to soothe her.
A whimsical, irrational, unconventional appeal of this sort went straight to his heart, for the queer little man hated the commonplace most cordially. "I'll give you the money on one condition," he said. "I object to the condition," said Gys firmly. "Conditions are dangerous." "My proposition," went on Uncle John, "won't wait for weeks.
When in the few minutes of speech he had had with her she admitted herself to be the mysterious correspondent who had constantly written to him as "Gys Grandit," fervently sympathising with his theories, and urging him on to fresh and more courageous effort, he had been completely overcome, not only with surprise, but also with admiration.
Betwixt them Maud and Beth quickly applied first aid to the others in the group and then Uncle John said: "Let us take the king's advice and get back to the ambulance. We left only Patsy and Dr. Gys there and I'm sure you girls will be needed." On their return they came upon a man sitting in a hollow and calmly leaning against a bank of sand, smoking a cigarette. He wore a gray uniform.
Monsignor Moretti has just left the house, wrapt up in his wrath like a bird of prey in a thunder- cloud, muttering menaces against 'Gys Grandit' the Socialist writer. Now what in the world has Gys Grandit to do with him or with us?
The son, known to the world as Gys Grandit, was present in the church, and fired a pistol shot at his father, hoping to murder him, then came the theatrical denouement of the whole scene; the Abbe ordered the gendarmes to release the assassin, pronouncing him to be his son.
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