"Now," he cried, "I must go and find a surgeon; take care of my lieutenant, but do not move him!" He was about to hurry away.
"Stop," said the brewer, "your surgeons will all be busy at the field hospitals; our surgeon lives close here, he is a clever man, I will fetch him."
He went out, and soon returned with a fresh-faced, grey-headed old gentleman, with a very kind expression.
He stepped up to the bed, whilst Fritz studied his looks with the greatest anxiety.
The surgeon shook his head, he opened one of the closed eye-lids, looked at the eye of the wounded man, and said,
"Life is not extinct, whether we can retain it is in God's hand! I must look at the wounds, we must undress him, and you, dear Margaret, get us some warm water and some wine."
The young girl hastened away. Fritz carefully cut off the wounded man's clothes and boots.
There was a wound in the left breast, another in the shoulder.
"This is nothing," said the surgeon, pointing to the shoulder, "a bayonet wound, which will get well of itself; but here--" drawing a probe from a case, he examined the wound in the breast.
"The bullet has lodged upon the rib," he said; "if he does not die from loss of blood and exhaustion he may recover. For the present he must have perfect rest; I cannot attempt to extract the bullet until he has in some measure recovered his strength."