They remained silent for a moment, when the old wood-cutter continued,--"Thou wilt tell my wife that in a bag behind the closet, there are five pieces of six. I have saved them up, in case we either of us fell ill. I no longer need them." "That is to say--that is to say--But thou mayst recover still, my poor old fellow. We will carry thee away." "No; it is not worth the trouble: I cannot last more than an hour. It would only make me linger." Materne, without answering, signed to Kasper to place his carbine with his own, so as to form a stretcher, and Frantz placed the old wood-cutter upon them, notwithstanding his moans. In this way they arrived at the farm. All the wounded who during the combat had had strength to drag themselves to the ambulance were now assembled there; and Doctor Lorquin and his comrade Dubois, who had arrived during the day, had work enough to do. But all was far from being over yet. As Materne, his boys, and Rochart were traversing the dark alley under the lantern, they heard to their left a cry which made their blood run cold, and the old wood-cutter, half dead, called out, "Why do you take me there? I will not go; I will not have anything done to me." "Open the door, Frantz," said Materne, his face streaming with perspiration. "Open it! Be quick!" Frantz having pushed open the door, they beheld in the centre of the low room with its large brown beams, Colard's son stretched out full length on a great kitchen-table, a man at each arm and a bucket beneath him. Doctor Lorquin, his shirtsleeves turned up to his elbows, and a short saw in his hand, was cutting off the poor fellow's leg, while Dubois stood by with a large sponge. The blood trickled into the pail. Colard was as white as death. Catherine Lefèvre was there with a roll of lint on her arm. She seemed calm; but her teeth were clinched, and she fastened her eyes on the ground as though determined to witness nothing. "It is finished," said the doctor, turning round; and perceiving the new-comers, "Ha! it is you, Father Rochart!" he exclaimed. "Yes, it is I; but I will not let any one touch me. I would rather die as I am." The doctor lifted up a candle, looked at him, and made a grimace. "It is time to see to you, my poor old fellow. You have lost much blood, and if we wait longer it will be too late." "So much the better! I have suffered enough in my life." "As you like. Let us pass on to another." He cast his eyes over a long line of straw mattresses at the end of the room; the two last were empty, but covered with blood. Materne and Kasper laid the old wood-cutter down on the last, while Dubois, approaching another wounded man, said, "Nicolas, it is thy turn!" Nicolas Cerf raised his pale face and his eyes glistened with fright. "Let him have a glass of brandy," said the doctor. "No, I would rather smoke my pipe." "Where is thy pipe?" "In my waistcoat pocket." "Good, I have found it. And the tobacco?" "In my trousers."