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Updated: May 23, 2025
And in this abode of suffering, they are kings; their couches are encircled by the respect and silence due to majesty. I approach the younger man and bend over him. "What is your name?" The answer is a murmur accompanied by an imploring look. What I hear sounds like: Mahihehondo. It is a sigh with modulations. It takes me a week to discover that the boyish patient is called Marie Lerondeau.
In the middle of the dressing, Carre opened his lips, and in spite of himself, began to complain without restraint or measure, giving up the struggle in despair. Lerondeau listened, anxious and uneasy; and Carre, knowing that Marie was listening, continued to lament, like one who has lost all sense of shame. Lerondeau called me by a motion of his eyelids. He said: "Carre!..."
When he is not behaving well, I say: "Come, be sensible, Lerondeau." His eyes fill with tears at once. One day I was obliged to try "Monsieur Lerondeau," and he was so hurt that I had to retract on the spot.
And I leave Marie sitting in the sun, with a fine new pink colour in his freckled cheeks. Carre died early this morning. Lerondeau leaves us to-morrow. Were modesty banished from the rest of the earth, it would no doubt find a refuge in Mouchon's heart.
"I am a basket-maker," he said gravely. "I shall be able to take up my trade again more or less. But think of workers on the land, like Groult, who has lost a hand, and Lerondeau, with his useless leg!... That's really terrible!" Auger rolls his r's in a way that gives piquancy and vigour to his conversation.
Carre's emaciated arm emerged from under his blanket, and he began to lecture Marie on the subject of hope and courage.... I listened to the quavering voice, I looked at the toothless face, lit up by a smile, and I felt a curious choking in my throat, while Lerondeau blinked like a child who is being scolded.
Carre turned his head slightly, saw the visitor, and frowning, began to sing: "Il n'est ni beau ni grand mon verre." The stranger looked at him with tears in his eyes but the more he looked, the more resolutely Carre smiled, clutching the edges of the table with his two quivering hands. Lerondeau has good strong teeth. Carre has nothing but black stumps.
This distresses me, for a man with a fractured thigh needs good teeth. Lerondeau is still at death's door, but though moribund, he can eat. He attacks his meat with a well-armed jaw; he bites with animal energy, and seems to fasten upon anything substantial. Carre, for his part, is well-inclined to eat; but what can he do with his old stumps? "Besides," he says, "I was never very carnivorous."
After a long, light silence, he looks at me again, and repeats: "I must have been pretty brave to stay alone with the wagons!" True enough, Lerondeau was brave, and I take care to let people know it. When strangers come in during the dressings, I show them Marie, who is making ready to groan, and say: "This is Marie Marie Lerondeau, you know.
Whereas Lerondeau seemed still wrapped in a kind of plaintive stupor, Carre was already enfolding me in a deep affectionate gaze. He said: "You must do all that is necessary." Lerondeau can as yet only murmur a half articulate phrase: "Mustn't hurt me." As soon as I could distinguish and understand the boy's words, I called him by his Christian name.
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