The Knight lost not a second in profiting by the kind suggestion, but in the now thickening, gloom it was some time before he could discover the object of his search. At length he caught sight of the well-known uniform of his corps,--the blue jacket slashed with silver,--as it was thrown loosely over the figure, and partly over the face of a wounded soldier. Gently removing it, he gazed with steadfastness at the pale and bloodless countenance of a young and handsome man, who with half-closed eyelids lay scarcely breathing before him. “Do you know me, my poor fellow?” whispered Darcy, bending down over him,--“do you know me? For I feel as if we should know each other well, and had met before this.” The wounded man met his glance with a look of kind acknowledgment, but made no effort to speak; a faint sigh broke from him, as with a tremulous hand he pushed back the jacket and showed a terrible bayonet-stab in the chest, from which at each respiration the blood welled out in florid rivulets. “Where is the surgeon?” said Darcy, to the soldier beside the litter. “He is here, Monsieur,” said a sharp-looking man, who, without coat and with shirt-sleeves tucked up, came hastily forward. “Can you look to this poor fellow for me?” whispered Darcy, while he pressed into the not unwilling hand of the doctor a somewhat weighty purse. “We can do little more thau put a pad on a wounded vessel just now,” said the surgeon, as with practised coolness he split up with a scissors the portions of dress around the wound. “When we have them once housed in the hospital--Parbleu!” cried he, interrupting himself, “this is a severe affair.” Darcy turned away while the remorseless fingers of the surgeon probed the gaping incision, and then whispered low, “Can he recover?” “Ah! _mon Dieu!_ who knows? There is enough mischief here to kill half a squadron; but some fellows get through anything. If we had him in a quiet chamber of the Faubourg, with a good nurse, and all still and tranquil about him, there 's no saying; but here, with some seven hundred others,--many as bad, some worse than himself,--the chances are greatly against him. Come, however, we'll do our best for him.” So saying, he proceeded to pass ligatures on some bleeding arteries; and although speaking rapidly all the while, his motions were even still more quick and hurried. “How old is he?” asked the surgeon, suddenly, as he gazed attentively at the youth. “I can't tell you,” said Darcy. “He belonged to my own corps, and by the lace on his jacket, I see, must have been a Volunteer; but I shame to say I don't remember even his name.” “He knows _you_, then,” replied the doctor, who, with the shrewd perception of his craft, watched the working of the sick man's features. “Is't not so?” said he, stooping down and speaking with marked distinctness. “You know your colonel?”