The Colonel's face was transfigured; opening wide his long cloak and showing his black velvet plastron upon which shone his commander's cross, he drew his sword, and, putting his cap upon the tip of it, bareheaded, with his gray hair floating in the wind, with open arms he threw himself before the runaways. "Halt!" he commanded, in a thundering tone. "Turn about, wretches, turn about! You are here at a post of honor. Form again, my men! Gunners, to your places! Long life to France!" Just then a new shell burst at the feet of the Colonel and of Maurice, and they both fell to the ground. Amedee, staggering with emotion and a heart bursting with grief and fear, entered the hospital behind the two litters. "Put them in the dining-room," said one of the brothers. "There is nobody there. The doctor will come immediately." The young man with the bloody apron came in at once, and after a look at the wounded man he gave a despairing shake of the head, and, shrugging his shoulders, said: "There is nothing to be done they will not last long." In fact, the Colonel was dying. They had thrown an old woollen covering over him through which the hemorrhage showed itself by large stains of blood which were constantly increasing and penetrating the cloth. The wounded man seemed to be coming out of his faint; he half opened his eyes, and his lips moved. The doctor, who had just come in, came up to the litter upon which the old officer was lying and leaned over him. "Did you wish to say anything?" he asked. The old Colonel, without moving his head, turned his sad gaze upon the surgeon, oh! so sad, and in. a voice scarcely to be heard he murmured: "Three daughters--to marry--without a dowry! Three--three--!" Then he heaved a deep sigh, his blue eyes paled and became glassy. Colonel Lantz was dead. Do not despair, old military France! You will always have these simple- hearted soldiers who are ready to sacrifice themselves for your flag, ready to serve you for a morsel of bread, and to die for you, bequeathing their widows and orphans to you! Do not despair, old France of the one hundred years' war and of '92! The brothers, who wore upon their black robes the red Geneva cross, were kneeling around the body and praying in a low tone. The assistant surgeon noticed Amedee Violette for the first time, standing motionless in a corner of the room. "What are you doing here?" he asked him, brusquely. "I am this poor officer's friend," Amedee replied, pointing to Maurice. "So be it! stay with him--if he asks for a drink you have the tea there upon the stove. You, gentlemen," added he, addressing the brothers, who arose after making the sign of the cross, "you will return to the battle- field, I suppose?" They silently bowed their heads, the eldest of them closed the dead man's eyes. As they were all going out together, the assistant surgeon said to them, in a petulant tone of voice: "Try to bring me some not quite so much used up."