"So be it! I will endanger my own head in an attempt to save this one. But you can at least," he added, looking proudly around, "leave me to work in peace."
All stepped aside with a sort of respectful deference to the power of genius.
In the solemn silence no further sound was heard except the stertorous breathing of the wounded man.
Ambroise Paré placed his left knee upon the duke's chest; then, leaning over, he took the wooden part of the lance in his hands, as he had said, and moved it to and fro, gently at first, afterwards with more force.
The duke started as if in terrible pain.
The faces of all who were present were pallid with horror.
Ambroise himself stopped for a moment, as if afraid to proceed. The sweat of anguish moistened his forehead; but he set to work again almost immediately.
After a minute, which seemed more than an hour long, the iron at last came from the wound.
Ambroise Paré cast it away with a shudder, and quickly stooped over the yawning orifice.
When he rose, his features were illuminated with a joyous light. But in a moment his serious mood returned, and falling on his knees, he raised his hands to God, while a tear of happiness rolled down his cheek.