With his forceps the doctor lays hold carefully of a mass of bloody
dressings, and draws them gently out of a gaping wound in the abdomen. A
ray of sunshine lights him at his work, and the whole of the frail shed
trembles to the roar of the cannon.
"I am a big china-dealer," murmurs the patient. "You come from Paris,
and I do, too. Save me, and you shall see.... I'll give you a fine piece
of china."
The plugs are coming out by degrees; the forceps glitter, and the ray
of sunshine seems to tremble under the cannonade, as do the floor, the
walls, the light roof, the whole earth, the whole universe, drunk with
fatigue.
Suddenly, from the depths of space, a whining sound arises, swells,
rends the air above the shed, and the shell bursts a few yards off, with
the sound of a cracked object breaking.
The thin walls seem to quiver under the pressure of the air. The doctor
makes a slight movement of his head, as if to see, after all, where the
thing fell.
Then the china-dealer, who noted the movement, says in a quiet voice:
"Don't take any notice of those small things, they don't do any
harm. Only save me, and I will give you a beautiful piece of china or
earthenware, whichever you like."