I went out again into the freshness of the night, and proceeded to the waiting-room to find my stretcher-bearers. At that moment it was the turn of the cuirassiers to be brought in. A division of “foot cavalry” had been fighting since morning. Hundreds of the finest men in France had fallen, and they waited there like broken statues which are still beautiful in their ruins. Their limbs were so strong, and their chests so solid, that they could not believe in death, and as they felt their rich healthy blood dripping from their wounds, they held at bay, with curses and laughter, the weakness of their broken flesh. “They can do what they like with this flesh of mine,” said one of the two; “but to make me unconscious, damn me! I’m not having any.” “Yes, whatever they like,” said another, “but not amputation! I want my paw; even done to the world, I want it!” These two men were coming out of the X-ray ward. They lay naked under a sheet, and carried, pinned to their bandages, papers of different sizes and shapes, rough sketches, formulæ, and something like an algebraical statement of their wounds, the expression in numbers of their misery and disordered organs. They spoke of this their first visit to the laboratory like clever children who realise that the modern world would not know how to live or die without the meticulous discipline of the sciences. “What did he say, the X-rays major?” “He said it was an antero-posterior axis.” “Just what I feared.” “It’s in my belly. I heard him say _abdomen_. But I am sure it’s in my belly. Ah, damn it! but I’m not going to be put to sleep. That I won’t stand!” The door of the operating theatre opened at this point, and the waiting-room was flooded with light. A voice cried: “The next lot! And the belly chap first!” The black bearers adjusted their straps, and the two talkers were carried off. I followed the stretchers. Imagine a shining rectangular block set in sheer night like a jewel in coal. The door closed again, and I found myself imprisoned in that light, which was reflected from the spotless canvas of the ceiling. The floor, level and springy, was strewn with red soaked linen which the orderlies picked up quickly with forceps. Between the floor and the ceiling, four strange forms that were men. They were dressed completely in white, their faces hidden behind masks which, like those of Touareg, only admit the eyes to view. Like Chinese dancers, they held in the air their hands covered with rubber, and the perspiration streamed from their brows. You could hear the muffled vibrations of the motor which generated the light. Filled up again to overflowing, the steriliser disturbed the world with its piercing lament. Small radiators were snorting like animals when they are stroked the wrong way. It all made a savage, flamboyant music, and the men who were moving about seemed to perform rhythmically a religious dance--a kind of austere and mysterious ballet.