“The wound is too large and too deep,” replied the man of science, “to be cauterised with boiling oil, according to the ancient method.  ’Delenda est causa mali,’ the source of evil must be destroyed, as says the learned Ambrose Pare; I ought therefore ’secareferro,’—­that is to say, take off the leg.  May God grant that he survive the operation!”

While seeking his instruments, he looked the supposed brother full in the face, and added—­

“But how is it that you are carrying muskets in opposing armies, for I see that you belong to us, while this poor fellow wears Spanish uniform?”

“Oh, that would be a long story to tell,” replied the soldier, shaking his head.  “As for me, I followed the career which was open to me, and took service of my own free will under the banner of our lord king, Henry II.  This man, whom you rightly suppose to be my brother, was born in Biscay, and became attached to the household of the Cardinal of Burgos, and afterwards to the cardinal’s brother, whom he was obliged to follow to the war.  I recognised him on the battle-field just as he fell; I dragged him out of a heap of dead, and brought him here.”

During his recital this individual’s features betrayed considerable agitation, but the surgeon did not heed it.  Not finding some necessary instruments, “My colleague,” he exclaimed, “must have carried them off.  He constantly does this, out of jealousy of my reputation; but I will be even with him yet!  Such splendid instruments!  They will almost work of themselves, and are capable of imparting some skill even to him, dunce as he is!...  I shall be back in an hour or two; he must rest, sleep, have nothing to excite him, nothing to inflame the wound; and when the operation is well over, we shall see!  May the Lord be gracious to him!”

Then he went to the door, leaving the poor wretch to the care of his supposed brother.

“My God!” he added, shaking his head, “if he survive, it will be by the help of a miracle.”

Scarcely had he left the room, when the unwounded soldier carefully examined the features of the wounded one.

“Yes,” he murmured between his teeth, “they were right in saying that my exact double was to be found in the hostile army . . . .  Truly one would not know us apart! . . .  I might be surveying myself in a mirror.  I did well to look for him in the rear of the Spanish army, and, thanks to the fellow who rolled him over so conveniently with that arquebus-shot; I was able to escape the dangers of the melee by carrying him out of it.”

“But that’s not all,” he thought, still carefully studying the tortured face of the unhappy sufferer; “it is not enough to have got out of that.  I have absolutely nothing in the world, no home, no resources.  Beggar by birth, adventurer by fortune, I have enlisted, and have consumed my pay; I hoped for plunder, and here we are in full flight!  What am I to do?  Go and drown myself?  No, certainly a cannon-ball would be as good as that.  But can’t I profit by this chance, and obtain a decent position by turning to my own advantage this curious resemblance, and making some use of this man whom Fate has thrown in my way, and who has but a short time to live?”