During the morning the young Belgian who had lain until now in a stupor, recovered consciousness. He had moaned once or twice, drawing Maud to his side, but hearing a different sound from him she approached the berth where he lay, to find his eyes wide open. Gradually he turned them upon his nurse, as if feeling her presence, and after a moment of observation he sighed and then smiled wanly.
"Still on earth?" he said in French.
"I am so glad," she replied. "You have been in dreamland a long time."
He tried to move and it brought a moan to his lips.
"Don't stir," she counseled warningly; "you are badly wounded."
He was silent for a time, staring at the ceiling. She held some water to his lips and he drank eagerly. Finally he said in a faint voice:
"I remember, now. I had turned to reload and it hit me in the back. A bullet, mademoiselle?"
"Part of a shell."
"Ah, I understand.... I tried to get to the rear. The pain was terrible. No one seemed to notice me. At last I fell, and—then I slept. I thought it was the end."
She bathed his forehead, saying: