He shrugs his shoulders. He knows nothing about the Couvent de Saint
Pierre and Miss Ashley-Smith and three British wounded, and his shrug
implies that he cares less.
And he says he has no orders to go and fetch them.
I perceive that in this supreme moment I am up against Tom's
superstition. He won't move anywhere without orders. It is his one means
of putting himself in the right and everybody else in the wrong.
And the worst of it is he _is_ right.
I am also up against Tom's sex prejudices. I remember that he is said to
have sworn with an oath that he wasn't going to take orders from any
woman.
And the Commandant is nowhere to be seen.
Tom sticks to the ledge of the porch and stares at me defiantly. The
servants of the Hospital come out and look at us. They are so many
reinforcements to Tom's position.
I tell him that the arrangement has been made with the Commandant's
consent, and I repeat firmly that he is to get into his car this minute
and drive to the Couvent de Saint Pierre.
He says he does not know where the Convent is. It may be anywhere.