o get two fragments of shell--in the
back and the left buttock respectively--is really a great misfortune;
yet this is what happened to M. Levy, infantryman and Territorial.

I never spoke familiarly to M. Levy, because of his age and his air of
respectability; and perhaps, too, because, in his case, I felt a great
and special need to preserve my authority.

Monsieur Levy was not always "a good patient." When I first approached
him, he implored me not to touch him "at any price."

I disregarded these injunctions, and did what was necessary. Throughout
the process, Monsieur Levy was snoring, be it said. But he woke up
at last, uttered one or two piercing cries, and stigmatised me as a
"brute." All right.

Then I showed him the big pieces of cast-iron I had removed from his
back and his buttock respectively. Monsieur Levy's eyes at once filled
with tears; he murmured a few feeling words about his family, and then
pressed my hands warmly: "Thank you, thank you, dear Doctor."

Since then, Monsieur Levy has suffered a good deal, I must admit. There
are the plugs! And those abominable india-rubber tubes we push into the
wounds! Monsieur Levy, kneeling and prostrating himself, his head in
his bolster, suffered every day and for several days without stoicism or
resignation. I was called an "assassin" and also on several occasions, a
"brute." All right.

However, as I was determined that Monsieur Levy should get well, I
renewed the plugs, and looked sharply after the famous india-rubber
tubes.

The time came when my hands were warmly pressed and my patient said:
"Thank you, thank you, dear Doctor," every day.

At last Monsieur Levy ceased to suffer, and confined himself to the
peevish murmurs of a spoilt beauty or a child that has been scolded. But
now no one takes him seriously. He has become the delight of the ward;
he laughs so heartily when the dressing is over, he is naturally so gay
and playful, that I am rather at a loss as to the proper expression to
assume when, alluding to the past, he says, with a look in which good
nature, pride, simplicity, and a large proportion of playful malice are
mingled:

"I suffered so much! so much!"

XIX

He was no grave, handsome Arab, looking as if he had stepped from the
pages of the "Arabian Nights," but a kind of little brown monster with
an overhanging forehead and ugly, scanty hair.

He lay upon the table, screaming, because his abdomen was very painful
and his hi