Chapter XV

Nogue is courageous, but Norman; this gives to courage a special form, which excludes neither reserve, nor prudence, nor moderation of language.

On the day when he was wounded, he bore a preliminary operation with perfect calm. Lifting up his shattered arm, I said:

"Are you suffering very much?" And he barely opened his lips to reply:

"Well... perhaps a bit."

Fever came the following days, and with it a certain discomfort. Nogue could not eat, and when asked if he did not feel rather hungry, he shook his head:

"I don't think so."

Well, the arm was broken very high up, the wound looked unhealthy, the fever ran high, and we made up our minds that it was necessary to come to a decision.

"My poor Nogue," I said, "we really can't do anything with that arm of yours. Be sensible. Let us take it off."

If we had waited for his answer, Nogue would have been dead by now. His face expressed great dissatisfaction, but he said neither yes nor no.

"Don't be afraid, Nogue. I will guarantee the success of the operation."

Then he asked to make his will. When the will had been made, Nogue was laid upon the table and operated upon, without having formulated either consent or refusal.

When the first dressing was made, Nogue looked at his bleeding shoulder, and said:

"I suppose you couldn't have managed to leave just a little bit of arm?"

After a few days the patient was able to sit up in an arm-chair. His whole being bore witness to a positive resurrection, but his tongue remained cautious.

"Well, now, you see, you're getting on capitally."

"Hum... might be better."

Never could he make up his mind to give his whole-hearted approval, even after the event, to the decision which had saved his life. When we said to him:

"YOU'RE all right. We've done the business for YOU!" he would not commit himself.

"We shall see, we shall see."

He got quite well, and we sent him into the interior. Since then, he has written to us, "business letters," prudent letters which he signs "a poor mutilated fellow."