I could not see the bed of Number 29 from there, but I would know from the look of the men in the ward.
As I stooped, the patronne came out from the chief's bureau.
I heard her step and turned.
She said, "He is very bad. If they amputate he will probably die of the shock. It will have to be the left leg too, at the thigh. It is you who must tell him. If they do not do it he will die of poisoning certainly."
She stamped her foot at me and said, "Now don't look like that. You've got to tell him. He will take it better from you." The blotches of her arms were very purple. She said, "They are going to do it this morning. Go and tell him." Then she went back into the chief's bureau.
I went into the ward. I still could not see the Number 29 because of the hoop, like a little tent, that keeps the weight of the blankets from his legs.
Madame Marthe, the panseuse, was not in the ward. The infirmière, Madame Alice, was cleaning the night-tables down by the other door.
Every one called, "Bonjour, Madame; bonjour, Madame!"
"Bonjour, les embusqués!"
That is our great joke, that they are all embusqués.