flict.
He has scarcely knitted his brows, when I begin to fasten up the
apparatus again.

Then Carre's haggard face breaks into a smile, and he exclaims:

"Finished already? Put some more ether on, make it sting a bit at
least."

Carre knows that the courage of which there was no need to-day will not,
perhaps, be available to-morrow.

And to-morrow, and for many days after, Carre will have to be constantly
calling up those reserves of the soul which help the body to suffer
while it waits for the good offices of Nature.

The swimmer adrift on the open seas measures his strength, and strives
with all his muscles to keep himself afloat. But what is he to do when
there is no land on the horizon, and none beyond it?

This leg, infected to the very marrow, seems to be slowly devouring the
man to whom it belongs; we look at it anxiously, and the white-haired
Master fixes two small light-blue eyes upon it, eyes accustomed to
appraise the things of life, yet, for the moment, hesitant.

I speak to Carre in veiled words of the troublesome, gangrenous leg. He
gives a toothless laugh, and settles the question at once.

"Well, if the wretched thing is a nuisance, we shall have to get rid of
it."

After this consent, we shall no doubt make up our minds to do so.

Meanwhile Lerondeau is creeping steadily towards healing.

Lying on his back, bound up in bandages and a zinc trough, and
imprisoned by cushions, he nevertheless looks like a ship which the tide
will set afloat at dawn.

He is putting on flesh, yet, strange to say, he seems to get lighter
and lighter. He is learning not to groan, not because his frail soul is
gaining strength, but because the animal is better fed and more robust.

His ideas of strength of mind are indeed very elementary. As soon as I
hear his first cry, in the warm room where his wound is dressed, I give
him an encouraging look, and say:

"Be brave, Marie! Try to be strong!"

Then he knits his brows, makes a grimace, and asks:

"Ought I to say 'By God!'?"

The zinc trough in which Marie's shattered leg has been lying has lost
its shape; it has become oxydised and is split at the edges; so I have
decided to change it.

I take it away, look at it, and throw it into a corner. Marie follows my
movements with a scared glance. While I am adjusting the new trough, a
solid, comfortable one, but rather different in appearance, he casts
an eloquent glance at the discarded one, and his eyes fill w