his shape and aspect will be when we
get him on his feet again.

Marie did his duty bravely under fire. "He stayed alone with the wagons
and when he was wounded, the Germans kicked him with their heavy boots."
These are the salient points of the interrogatory.

Now and again Lerondeau's babble ceases, and he looks up to the ceiling,
for this takes the place of distance and horizon to those who lie upon
their backs. After a long, light silence, he looks at me again, and
repeats:

"I must have been pretty brave to stay alone with the wagons!"

True enough, Lerondeau was brave, and I take care to let people know it.
When strangers come in during the dressings, I show them Marie, who is
making ready to groan, and say:

"This is Marie--Marie Lerondeau, you know. He has a fractured thigh, but
he is a very brave fellow. He stayed alone with the wagons."

The visitors nod their heads admiringly, and Marie controls himself. He
blushes a little, and the muscles of his neck swell with pride. He makes
a sign with his eyes as if to say: "Yes, indeed, alone, all alone with
the wagons." And meanwhile, the dressing has been nearly finished.

The whole world must know that Marie stayed alone with the wagons. I
intend to pin a report of this on the Government pension certificate.

Carre was only under fire once, and was hit almost immediately. He is
much annoyed at this, for he had a good stock of courage, and now he has
to waste it within the walls of a hospital.

He advanced through a huge beetroot field, and he ran with the others
towards a fine white mist. All of a sudden, crack, he fell! His thigh
was fractured. He fell among the thick leaves, on the waterlogged earth.

Shortly afterwards his sergeant passed again, and said to him:

"We are going back to our trench, they shall come and fetch you later."

Carre merely said:

"Put my haversack under my head."

Evening was coming on; he prepared, gravely, to spend the night among
the beetroots. And there he spent it, alone with a cold drizzling rain,
meditating seriously until morning.

It was fortunate that Carre brought such a stock of courage into
hospital, for he needs it all. Successive operations and dressings make
large drafts upon the most generous supplies.

They put Carre upon the table, and I note an almost joyful resolution in
his look. To-day he has "all his strength, to the last ounce."

But just to-day, I have but little to do, not much suffering to in