"Seventeen to eighteen thousand." Our surgeon left the shed to chat with his comrade; they conversed tranquilly, while the assistants sat down to drink a cup of wine, and the Russian rolled his eyes despairingly.
"See, Duchêne; you have only to go down the street, opposite that well, do you see?"
" Very well indeed."
"Just opposite you will see the canteen."
"Very good; thank you; I am off."
He started, and our surgeon called after him—
"A good appetite to you, Duchêne!"
Then he returned to his Russian, whose neck he had laid open. He worked ill-humoredly, constantly scolding his aids.
The Russian writhed and groaned, but he paid no attention to that, and at last, throwing the bullet upon the ground, he bandaged up the wound, and cried, "Carry him off!"