The veterans, in a group in the centre of the tent, were playing at dice; and the players and bystanders alike were following with much interest the varying chances of the game. A huge smoking torch fixed in the earth lighted up the pleased or disappointed faces, and cast an uncertain, flickering light upon the features of the others, with their contrasted expressions, which we have tried to describe and sketch in the half-darkness. Gabriel raised his head, as poor Malemort uttered a more dolorous groan than usual, and said to his squire,-- "Martin-Guerre, what time is it now?" "Monseigneur, I can't tell very accurately," Martin replied, for this stormy night has put out all the stars; "but I imagine that it is not far from six o'clock, for it has been dark more than an hour." "The surgeon promised to come at six o'clock, did he not?" "At six precisely, Monseigneur. See, some one raises the curtain; yes, there he is." Vicomte d'Exmès cast his eyes upon the new arrival, and recognized him at the first glance. He had seen him but once before; but the surgeon's face was one of those which when once seen are never forgotten. "Master Ambroise Paré!" cried Gabriel, rising. "Monsieur le Vicomte d'Exmès!" said Paré, with a low bow. "Ah, Master, I had no idea you were in camp, and so near us!" said Gabriel. "I try always to be where I can be of the most service," the surgeon responded. "Oh, I recognize your noble heart in that! and I am doubly glad that you are here to-day, for I need to avail myself of your knowledge and skill." "Not for yourself, I trust," said Ambroise Paré. "Of whom do you speak?" "It is one of my people," said Gabriel. "This morning, while charging in a sort of frenzy upon the retreating English, he received a lance-thrust in the shoulder from one of them." "In the shoulder? It may not be a very serious matter, then," said the surgeon. "I am afraid it is, however," said Gabriel, in a lower tone; "for one of the wounded man's comrades, Scharfenstein there, tried in such a rough and awkward fashion to pull out the lance-head that he broke it off, and the iron remained in the wound." Ambroise Paré's face for a moment assumed an expression which augured ill for the sufferer. "Let me see him," he said, with his accustomed calmness. He was conducted to the patient's bed. All the veterans had risen and surrounded the surgeon, each one abandoning his game or his reckoning or whatever he was engaged in. Lactance alone continued to mumble his beads in his corner; for when doing penance for his doughty deeds he never allowed himself to be interrupted except to perform others. Ambroise Paré removed the bandages in which Malemort's shoulder was enveloped, and examined the wound very carefully. He shook his head doubtfully, as if in dissatisfaction, but said aloud,-- "This is nothing." "Ho, ho!" grumbled Malemort. "If it is nothing, can I go and fight again to-morrow?"