Here we found our Cyprien surrounded by his companions, who were busy disinfecting and binding up the wounds that he had received when the china cabinet had collapsed upon him. One of the men poured the tincture of iodine onto a hand held fast by a friend. Two others were rolling a bandage about his head, while the patient, far from subdued, waved the only free but much enveloped hand that he possessed, beating time to the air that he was literally shouting and in whose rather bald verse the station master's wife was accused of the grossest infidelity. "Shh! Cyprien," his friends enjoined; "shut up a bit, can't you?" But it was no easy thing to impose silence upon Cyprien when he had made up his mind to manifest a thought or an opinion. "You'll get us all into trouble, old man, see if you don't. Cut it out, won't you? See, here comes an officer." The officer approached them. "It's not his fault, sir," began one of the fellows, before his superior had time to ask a question. "I assure you, it's not his fault. He's just back from Saloniki--his first furlough in a year, sir. It must have gone to his head. I swear he hasn't had anything but cider to drink, sir." "But that's no excuse for making all this noise. Show me his military book!" The officer took it, ran through the pages, and then approached Cyprien. At the sight of the gold braid Cyprien stood up and saluted. "Before you went to Saloniki, I see you fought at Verdun." "Yes, sir." "And at Beausejour?" "Yes, sir." "And Vauquois?" "Yes, sir." The eyes of the two veterans met; the officer's glance seeking to pierce that of the soldier in front of him. Then suddenly, in an irresistible burst of sympathy and respect, he thrust out his hand and caught up one of Cyprien's bandaged pair. "I was there, too," was all he said. Instantly sobered, our hero straightened up and literally crushed his superior's fingers in his mighty fist. "Come with me," said the officer; "I know a place where you can rest until it's time to leave. And you boys here," said he turning towards them, "you'll see to it that he doesn't miss his train." Night, inky black, fathomless night, had now settled about us. In the distance one could just discern the red and green signal lamps--at closer range the burning tip of a cigar or cigarette. The soldiers turned up their collars. The wind shifting to the north was piercing cold. One had to walk briskly up and down to avoid becoming chilled. Way at the other end of the platform the flare of fugitive matches revealed shadows moving about as though searching for something upon the ground. "What are you looking for?" "A third-class return ticket for Royan. That old lady over there has lost hers." We turned about to see a poor old wrinkled soul, in her native Norman costume, wringing her hands in distress. "What a misfortune! Oh dear, oh dear, what a misfortune! What will become of me now? What shall I do?"