ricken comrades: "Well, boys, that's all right. It might have
been worse. Now carry me somewhere out of this."

"Did you suffer terribly?" I asked him.

"Well, Monsieur, not as much as you might think. Honestly, it did not
hurt so very, very much. Afterwards, indeed, the pain was pretty bad."

I understand why every one is fond of Auger. It is because he is
reassuring. Seeing him and listening to him one opines that suffering
is not such a horrible thing after all. Those who live far from the
battle-field, and visit hospitals to get a whiff of the war, look at
Auger and go away well satisfied with everything: current events, him,
and themselves. They are persuaded that the country is well defended,
that our soldiers are brave, and that wounds and mutilations, though
they may be serious things, are not unbearable.

Yet pain has come to Auger as to the rest. But there is a way of taking
it.

He suffers in an enlightened, intelligent, almost methodical fashion. He
does not confuse issues, and complain indiscriminately. Even when in the
hands of others, he remains the man who had the courage to cut off his
own foot, and finish the work of the shrapnel. He is too modest and
respectful to give advice to the surgeon, but he offers him valuable
information.

He says:

"Just there you are against the bone, it hurts me very much. Ah! there
you can scrape, I don't feel it much. Take care! You're pressing rather
too hard. All right: you can go on, I see what it's for...."

And this is how we work together.

"What are you doing? Ah, you're washing it. I like that. It does me
good. Good blood! Rub a little more just there. You don't know how it
itches. Oh! if you're going to put the tube in, you must tell me, that I
may hold on tight to the table."

So the work gets on famously. Auger will make a rapid and excellent
recovery. With him, one need never hesitate to do what is necessary. I
wanted to give him an anaesthetic before scraping the bone of his leg.
He said:

"I don't suppose it will be a very terrible business. If you don't mind,
don't send me to sleep, but just do what is necessary. I will see to the
rest."

True, he could not help making a few grimaces. Then the Sergeant said to
him:

"Would you like to learn the song of the grunting pigs?"

"How does your song go?"

The Sergeant begins in a high, shrill voice:

Quand en passant dedans la plai-ai-ne
On entend les cochons...
Cela prouve d'un