"Ah! you here, Father Rochart?"
"Yes; but you must not touch me. I am done for; let me die in peace."
The doctor took up a candle, looked for a moment at the old man's wounds, and said with a grimace:
"It was time, my poor Rochart; you have lost a great deal of blood, and if we wait any longer, it will be too late."
"Do not touch me!" shrieked the old man. "I have suffered enough!"
"As you wish. We will pass to another."
He looked at the long line of mattresses. The two last were empty, although deluged with blood. Materne and Kasper placed their charge upon the last, while Despois went to another of the wounded men, saying:
"It is your turn, Nicholas."
Then they saw tall Nicholas Cerf lift a pale face and eyes glittering with fear.
"Give him a glass of brandy," said the doctor.