The Englishman politely interposing, asked if she had any special object in wishing to enter the room.
"The poor Frenchmen!" she said, earnestly, her heart upbraiding her for having forgotten them.

"The poor wounded Frenchmen!" The German surgeon advanced from the bedside, and took the matter up before the Englishman could say a word more.
"You have nothing to do with the wounded Frenchmen," he croaked, in the harshest notes of his voice.

"The wounded Frenchmen are my business, and not yours.

They are _our_ prisoners, and they are being moved to _our_ ambulance.

I am Ingatius Wetzel, chief of the medical staff--and I tell you this.