His chief crony is Legrand. Legrand is a stonemason with a face like a young girl. He has lost a big piece of his skull. He has also lost the use of language, and we teach him words, as to a baby. He is beginning to get up now, and he hovers round Leglise's bed to perform little services for him. He tries to master his rebellious tongue, but failing in the attempt, he smiles, and expresses himself with a limpid glance, full of intelligence. Leglise pities him too: "It must be wretched not to be able to speak." To-day we laughed, yes, indeed, we laughed heartily, Leglise, the orderlies and I. We were talking of his future pension while the dressings were being prepared, and someone said to him: "You will live like a little man of means." Leglise looked at his body and answered: "Oh, yes, a little man, a very little man." The dressing went off very well. To make our task easier, Leglise suggested that he should hold on to the head of the bed with both hands and throw himself back on his shoulders, holding his stumps up in the air. It was a terrible, an unimaginable sight; but he began to laugh, and the spectacle became comic. We all laughed. But the dressing was easy and was quickly finished. The stumps are healing healthily. In the afternoon, he sits up in bed. He begins to read and to smoke, chatting to his companions. I explain to him how he will be able to walk with artificial legs. He jokes again: "I was rather short before; but now I can be just the height I choose." I bring him some cigarettes that had been sent me for him, some sweets and dainties. He makes a sign that he wants to whisper to me, and says very softly: "I have far too many things. But Legrand is very badly off; his home is in the invaded district, and he has nothing, they can't send him anything." I understand. I come back presently with a packet in which there are tobacco, some good cigarettes, and also a little note.... "Here is something for Legrand. You must give it to him. I'm off." In the afternoon I find Leglise troubled and perplexed. "I can't give all this to Legrand myself, he would be offended." So then we have to devise a discreet method of presentation. It takes some minutes. He invents romantic possibilities. He becomes flushed, animated, interested. "Think," I say, "find a way. Give it to him yourself, from some one or other." But Leglise is too much afraid of wounding Legrand's susceptibilities. He ruminates on the matter till evening. The little parcel is at the head of Legrand's bed. Leglise calls my attention to it with his chin, and whispers: "I found some one to give it to him. He doesn't know who sent it. He has made all sorts of guesses; it is very amusing!" Oh, Leglise, can it be that there is still something amusing, and that it is to be kind? Isn't this alone enough to make it worth while to live?