he was in severe pain at the time.

He said the wound gave him no pain at all, but a little irritating
cough caused excessive pain in his chest and side. As far as I could
learn, the blow had affected the lungs, which produced inflammation
and afterwards water in the chest, which was eventually the cause of
his death. I suspect the surgeons had never much hope, but they said
there was a chance if the inflammation could have been stopped. By
constantly watching him, and gradually day after day observing the
progress and increase of suffering and the elevated tone of his mind,
along with fatigue and weakness, I was prepared for his final release
in a manner that nothing but his firmness and composure could have
effected.

He had at first been laid in the outer room, which had two large
windows to the road, and everyone saw in. This he did not like, and he
made the people move him to a small room, about seven feet wide, with
a bed across the end of it. They placed him so low and awkwardly in
the bed, that when I first went in I thought his legs were hurt, for
he could not straighten his knees. After a day or two, he got shoved
up by degrees, and then could stretch his limbs. The bed was wretched,
merely a wooden frame fastened to the wall, so that it could not be
moved, which rendered it extremely difficult to bleed him, or to
assist him in any way, as he could neither turn nor raise his head an
inch from the pillow, or rather sack of chaff, upon which he was laid.
This was so full of dust that it made him cough. I soon removed it,
and got a cushion out of the carriage instead. We had a clean blanket
from Brussels, and at first we put clean sheets on every day. But
latterly he grew so restless that he preferred having only the
blanket. I had purposely sent for a French cotton one, as I thought
the flannel would tease him. The bed was made tolerable at least, and
though I could not be pleased with it, _he_ was. He repeated more than
once, "What a thing it was for you being in this country!" and I had
the delight of hearing him say that he did not know what he would have
done without me. He said he was sure he would not have lived so long,
for he would not have been so obedient to anyone else.

I found he had been the worse of seeing some friends who had called
the first day I was at Waterloo, so I told the servant afterwards
never to let anybody come into his room. I remember one day an officer
called, and before he was