The boys and I made a rush for the house. As we entered the grande sale, we saw a man bearing a human form in his arms staggering through the door. Through the blood and dust that smeared the unfortunate boy's clothing, I recognized the uniform of a chasseur. Not even an emergency bandage stopped the stream that was flowing from his cheek.
"Quick—a mattress!" I shouted.
The proprietress stood as though nailed to the doorway leading to the kitchen.
"Is he wounded?"
"No matter—a mattress!"
"But he might soil it—"
"Then I'll pay for it—but for the love of heaven, be quick!"
Just then the boy's head lurched forward and the blood poured from his mouth. Leon jumped to help the old man who was holding him, and I had just time to catch the proprietress as she swooned on the floor.
"Put the boy on the billiard table and stuff this blanket under his head," I said, grabbing the article mentioned from the top of a bundle near by. "Come in here!" I called to the two daughters who were blubbering in the next room, terrified at what they had seen. "Come in here—lay her flat, loosen her clothes, and dash some cold water over her. She's not dead and I've no time to bother with her."
While others laid the wounded man out on the table, I rushed for my emergency case which I had fortunately thought to bring along.