Maurice Roger was about to die, too. His shirt was stained with blood, and a stream ran down from his forehead upon his blond moustache, but he was still beautiful in his marble-like pallor. Amedee carefully raised up one of the wounded man's arms and placed it upon the stretcher, keeping his friend's hand in his own. Maurice moved slightly at the touch, and ended by opening his eyes. "Ah, how thirsty I am!" he groaned. Amedee went to the stove and got the pot of tea, and leaned over to help the unfortunate man drink it. Maurice looked at him with surprise. He recognized Amedee. "You, Amedee!--where am I, then?" He attempted in vain to rise. His head dropped slightly to the left, and he saw, not two steps from him, the lifeless body of his old colonel, with eyes closed and features already calmed by the first moments of perfect repose. "My Colonel!" said he. "Ah! I understand--I remember-! How they ran away--miserable cowards! But you, Amedee? Why are you here--?" His friend could not restrain his tears, and Maurice murmured: "Done for, am I not?" "No, no!" exclaimed Amedee, with animation. "They are going to dress your wounds at once--They will come soon! Courage, my good Maurice! Courage!" Suddenly the wounded man had a terrible chill; his teeth chattered, and he said again: "I am thirsty!--something to drink, my friend!--give me something to drink!" A few swallows of tea calmed him a little. He closed his eyes as if to rest, but a moment after he opened them, and, fixing them upon his friend's face, he said to him in a faint voice: "You know--Maria, my wife--marry her--I confide them to you--she and my son--" Then, doubtless tired out by the fatigue of having spoken these words, he seemed to collapse and sink down into the litter, which was saturated now with his blood. A moment later he began to pant for breath. Amedee knelt by his side, and tears fell upon his hands, while between the dying man's gasps he could hear in the distance, upon the battlefield, the uninterrupted rumbling of the cannon as it mowed down others. CHAPTER XVII "WHEN YOUTH, THE DREAM, DEPARTS" The leaves are falling!