I found room for my charge in one of the upper rooms of the hospital, where he was washed and put into a warm bed.  His wound proved to be a severe one.  A Berdan bullet had passed through the thick part of the left pectoral, out again, and into the head of the humerus.  The surgeon said that the arm would have to be operated on, to remove the upper quarter of the bone.

The next morning I went to the hospital to see what had become of the wounded man, for the incident of the previous evening made a deep impression on my mind.  As I walked through the corridor I saw a group around a temporary bed in the corner.  Some one was evidently about to undergo an operation, for an assistant held at intervals a great cone of linen over a haggard face on the pillow, and a strong smell of chloroform filled the air.  As I approached the surgeon turned around, and recognizing me, with a nod and a smile said, “We are at work on your friend.”  While he was speaking he bared the left shoulder of the wounded man, and I saw the holes made by the bullet as it passed from the pectoral into the upper part of the deltoid.  Without waiting longer, the surgeon made a straight cut downward from near the acromion through the thick fibre of the deltoid to the bone.  He tried to sever the tendons to slip the head of the humerus from the socket, but failed.  He wasted no time in further trial, but made a second incision from the bullet-hole diagonally to the middle of the first cut, and turned the pointed flap thus made up over the shoulder.  It was now easy to unjoint the bones, and but a moment’s work to saw off the shattered piece, tie the severed arteries, and bring the flap again into its place.

There was no time to pause, for the surgeon began to fear the effects of the chloroform on the patient.  We hastened to revive him by every possible means at hand, throwing cold water on him and warming his hands and feet.  Although under the influence of chloroform to the degree that he was insensible to pain, he had not been permitted to lose his entire consciousness, and he appeared to be sensible of what we were doing.  Nevertheless, he awoke slowly, very slowly, the surgeon meanwhile putting the stitches in the incision.  At last he raised his eyelids and made a movement with his lips.  With a deliberate movement he surveyed the circle of faces gathered closely around the bed.  There was something in his eyes which had an irresistible attraction for me, and I bent forward to await his gaze.  As his eyes met mine they changed as if a sudden light had struck them, and the stony stare gave way to a look of intelligence and recognition.  Then, through the beard of a season’s growth and behind the haggard mask before me, I saw at once the circus-rider of Turin and Paris.  I remember being scarcely excited or surprised at the meeting, for a great sense of irresponsibility came over me, and I involuntarily accepted the coincidence as a matter of course.  He tried in vain to speak, but held up his right hand,