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his bust bare in order to facilitate respiration. Mademoiselle
Gillenormand, on perceiving that they were undressing
Marius, withdrew. She set herself to telling her beads in her
own chamber.
The trunk had not suffered any internal injury; a bullet,
deadened by the pocket-book, had turned aside and made
the tour of his ribs with a hideous laceration, which was
of no great depth, and consequently, not dangerous. The
long, underground journey had completed the dislocation
of the broken collar-bone, and the disorder there was seri-
ous. The arms had been slashed with sabre cuts. Not a single
scar disfigured his face; but his head was fairly covered with
cuts; what would be the result of these wounds on the head?
Would they stop short at the hairy cuticle, or would they
attack the brain? As yet, this could not be decided. A grave
symptom was that they had caused a swoon, and that peo-
ple do not always recover from such swoons. Moreover, the
wounded man had been exhausted by hemorrhage. From
the waist down, the barricade had protected the lower part
of the body from injury.
Basque and Nicolette tore up linen and prepared bandag-
es; Nicolette sewed them, Basque rolled them. As lint was
lacking, the doctor, for the time being, arrested the bleed-
ing with layers of wadding. Beside the bed, three candles
burned on a table where the case of surgical instruments lay
spread out. The doctor bathed Marius’ face and hair with
cold water. A full pail was reddened in an instant. The por-
ter, candle in hand, lighted them.
The doctor seemed to be pondering sadly. From time to