"My wound dressed? Oh, that's a good one! I tell you, sir, it's nothing ... less than nothing ... a kiss ... a puff of wind...."
He stood up for an instant, but his eyelids flickered, his hands sought for support and he fell back upon the litter.
Mme. Morestal and Marthe hastened to his side:
"Let me, mamma, please," said Marthe, "I'm used to it.... But you've forgotten the absorbent wool ... and the peroxide of hydrogen.... Quick, mamma ... and more bandages, lots of bandages...."
Mme. Morestal went out. Marthe bent over the wounded man and felt his pulse without delay:
"Quite right, it's nothing," she said. "The artery is uninjured."
She uncovered the wound and, very tenderly, staunched the blood that trickled from it:
"The peroxide, quick, mamma."
She took the bottle which some one held out to her and, raising her head, saw Suzanne stooping like herself over the wounded man.
"M. Morestal is waking up," said the girl. "Mme. Morestal sent me in her stead...."