Indeed, the moment for the saw has come and already one hears the grinding of the steel as it penetrates the living bone, separating from the body the member half gangrenous. But the pain has been too great for that weak, exhausted body; the groans have ceased, for the sick man has swooned. The surgeon, who is no longer guided by his cries and his groans, fearing that this silence may be that of death, looks at him uneasily to assure himself that he has not expired. The restoratives, held in reserve, succeed, with difficulty, in reviving his dull, half-closed, vacant eyes. The dying man, however, seems to return to life, he is weak and shattered, but at least his greatest sufferings are over. Imagine such an operation on an Austrian, understanding neither Italian nor French and letting himself be led like a sheep or an ox to slaughter without being able to exchange one word with his well-meaning tormentors! The French meet everywhere with sympathy; they are flattered, pampered, encouraged; when one speaks to them about the battle of Solferino, they brighten up and discuss it: That memory, full of glory for them; drawing their thoughts elsewhere than on themselves, lessens a little their unhappiness. But the Austrians have not this good fortune. In the hospitals where they are crowded, I insist upon seeing them and almost by force enter their rooms. With what gratitude these good men welcome my words of consolation and the gift of a little tobacco! On their resigned faces is depicted a lively gratitude, which they do not know how to express. Their looks tell more than any word of thanks. Some of them possess two or three paper florins, a small fortune for them, but they cannot change this modest value for coins. The officers particularly show hearty appreciation of the attentions bestowed upon them. In the hospital where he is lodged, Prince von Isenburg occupies with another German prince, a comfortable little room. During several successive days I distribute, without distinction of nationality, tobacco, pipes and cigars in the churches and hospitals where the odor of the tobacco lessens a little the nauseous stench produced by the crowding of so many patients in suffocating places. Besides that, it is a distraction, a means of dispelling the fears of the wounded before the amputation of a member; not a few are operated on with a pipe in the mouth, and some die smoking. Finally all the supply of tobacco in Brescia is exhausted. It must be brought from Milan. An eminent inhabitant of Brescia, Signor Carlo Borghetti, takes me in his carriage, from hospital to hospital. He helps me to distribute my modest gifts of tobacco, arranged by the merchants in thousands of little bags that are carried by willing soldiers in very large baskets.