“It looks bad; there’s no blood coming from the arterioles.”

And he completed his diagnosis of the case by an expressive gesture:  Another poor fellow who was soon to answer the great roll-call! while on his perspiring face was again seen that expression of weariness and utter dejection, that hopeless, unanswerable:  “What is the use?” since out of every ten cases that they assumed the terrible responsibility of operating on they did not succeed in saving four.  He wiped his forehead, and set to work to draw down the flap of skin and put in the three sutures that were to hold it in place.

Delaherche having told Gilberte that the operation was completed, she turned her gaze once more upon the table; she caught a glimpse of the captain’s foot, however, as the attendant was carrying it away to the place behind the lilacs.  The charnel house there continued to receive fresh occupants; two more corpses had recently been brought in and added to the ghastly array, one with blackened lips still parted wide as if rending the air with shrieks of anguish, the other, his form so contorted and contracted in the convulsions of the last agony that he was like a stunted, malformed boy.  Unfortunately, there was beginning to be a scarcity of room in the little secluded corner, and the human debris had commenced to overflow and invade the adjacent alley.  The attendant hesitated a moment, in doubt what to do with the captain’s foot, then finally concluded to throw it on the general pile.

“Well, captain, that’s over with,” the major said to Beaudoin when he regained consciousness.  “You’ll be all right now.”

But the captain did not show the cheeriness that follows a successful operation.  He opened his eyes and made an attempt to raise himself, then fell back on his pillow, murmuring wearily, in a faint voice: 

“Thanks, major.  I’m glad it’s over.”

He was conscious of the pain, however, when the alcohol of the dressing touched the raw flesh.  He flinched a little, complaining that they were burning him.  And just as they were bringing up the stretcher preparatory to carrying him back into the other room the factory was shaken to its foundations by a most terrific explosion; a shell had burst directly in the rear of the shed, in the small courtyard where the pump was situated.  The glass in the windows was shattered into fragments, and a dense cloud of smoke came pouring into the ambulance.  The wounded men, stricken with panic terror, arose from their bed of straw; all were clamoring with affright; all wished to fly at once.

Delaherche rushed from the building in consternation to see what damage had been done.  Did they mean to burn his house down over his head?  What did it all mean?  Why did they open fire again when the Emperor had ordered that it should cease?

“Thunder and lightning!  Stir yourselves, will you!” Bouroche shouted to his staff, who were standing about with pallid faces, transfixed by terror.  “Wash off the table; go and bring me in number three!”