Part 18 (2/2)

And I promise again, in the name of our country, sure that she will never fall short of what I undertake for her. The whole French nation is behind me at this moment, silently ratifying my promise.

We are at the edge of the terrace; evening has come. I hold his burning wrist in which the feeble pulse beats with exhausted fury. The night is so beautiful, so beautiful! Rockets rise above the hills, and fall slowly bathing the horizon in silvery rays. The lightning of the guns flashes furtively, like a winking eye. In spite of all this, in spite of war, the night is like waters dark and divine. Leglise breathes it in to his wasted breast in long draughts, and says:

”Oh, I don't know, I don't know!... Wait another day, please, please....”

We waited three whole days, and then Leglise gave in. ”Well, do what you must. Do what you like.”

On the morning of the operation, he asked to be carried down to the ward by the steps into the park. I went with him, and I saw him looking at all things round him, as if taking them to witness.

If only, only it is not too late!

Again he was laid on the table. Again we cut through flesh and bones.

The second leg was amputated at the thigh.

I took him in my arms to lay him on his bed, and he was so light, so light....

This time when he woke he asked no question. But I saw his hands groping to feel where his body ended.

A few days have pa.s.sed since the operation. We have done all it was humanly possible to do, and Leglise comes back to life with a kind of bewilderment.

”I thought I should have died,” he said to me this morning, while I was encouraging him to eat.

He added:

”When I went down to the operation-ward, I looked well at everything, and I thought it was for the last time.”

”Look, dear boy. Everything is just the same, just as beautiful as ever.”

”Oh!” he says, going back to his memories, ”I had made up my mind to die.”

To make up one's mind to die is to take a certain resolution, in the hope of becoming quieter, calmer, and less unhappy. The man who makes up his mind to die severs a good many ties, and indeed actually dies to some extent.

With secret anxiety, I say gently, as if I were asking a question:

”It is always good to eat, to drink, to breathe, to see the light. ...”

He does not answer. He is dreaming. I spoke too soon. I go away, still anxious.

We have some bad moments yet, but the fever gradually abates. I have an impression that Leglise bears his pain more resolutely, like one who has given all he had to give, and fears nothing further.

When I have finished the dressing, I turned him over on his side, to ease his sore back. He smiled for the first time this morning, saying:

”I have already gained something by getting rid of my legs. I can lie on my side now.”

But he cannot balance himself well; he is afraid of falling.

Think of him, and you will be afraid with him and for him.

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