"Oh! I will save him; I _must_ save him, now!"

She had acquired considerable experience in surgery during the long
time she had been in attendance on the hospital at Remilly, and now
she proceeded without delay to examine her brother's hurt, who remained
unconscious while she was undressing him. But when she undid the rude
bandage of Jean's invention, he stirred feebly and uttered a faint
cry of pain, opening wide his eyes that were bright with fever. He
recognized her at once and smiled.

"You here! Ah, how glad I am to see you once more before I die!"

She silenced him, speaking in a tone of cheerful confidence.

"Hush, don't talk of dying; I won't allow it! I mean that you shall
live! There, be quiet, and let me see what is to be done."

However, when Henriette had examined the injured arm and the wound in
the side, her face became clouded and a troubled look rose to her eyes.
She installed herself as mistress in the room, searching until she found
a little oil, tearing up old shirts for bandages, while Jean descended
to the lower regions for a pitcher of water. He did not open his mouth,
but looked on in silence as she washed and deftly dressed the wounds,
incapable of aiding her, seemingly deprived of all power of action by
her presence there. When she had concluded her task, however, noticing
her alarmed expression, he proposed to her that he should go and secure
a doctor, but she was in possession of all her clear intelligence. No,
no; she would not have a chance-met doctor, of whom they knew nothing,
who, perhaps, would betray her brother to the authorities. They must
have a man they could depend on; they could afford to wait a few hours.
Finally, when Jean said he must go and report for duty with his company,
it was agreed that he should return as soon as he could get away, and
try to bring a surgeon with him.

He delayed his departure, seemingly unable to make up his mind to
leave that room, whose atmosphere was pervaded by the evil he had
unintentionally done. The window, which had been closed for a moment,
had been opened again, and from it the wounded man, lying on his bed,
his head propped up by pillows, was looking out over the city, while the
others, also, in the oppressive silence that had settled on the chamber,
were gazing out into vacancy.

From that elevated point of the Butte des Moulins a good half of Paris
lay stretched beneath their eyes in a vast panorama: first the central
districts