“I could never sing in tune.”

Nevertheless, the song is learnt, more or less, and when the General comes to visit the hospital, Auger says to him: 

“Mon General, I can sing you a fine song.”

And he would, the rascal, if the head doctor did not look reprovingly at him.

It is very dismal, after this, to attend to Gregoire, and to hear him groaning: 

“Ah! don’t pull like that.  You’re dragging out my heart.”

I point out that if he won’t let us attend to him, he will become much worse.  Then he begins to cry.

“What do I care, since I shall die anyhow?”

He has depressed the orderlies, the stretcher-bearers, everybody.  He does not discourage me; but he gives me a great deal of trouble.

All you gentlemen who meet together to discuss the causes of the war, the end of the war, the using-up of effectives and the future bases of society, excuse me if I do not give you my opinion on these grave questions.  I am really too much taken up with the wound of our unhappy Gregoire.

It is not satisfactory, this wound, and when I look at it, I cannot think of anything else; the screams of the wounded man would prevent me from considering the conditions of the decisive battle and the results of the rearrangement of the map of Europe with sufficient detachment.

Listen:  Gregoire tells me he is going to die.  I think and believe that he is wrong.  But he certainly will die if I do not take it upon myself to make him suffer.  He will die, because every one is forsaking him.  And he has long ago forsaken himself.

“My dear chap,” remarked Auger to a very prim orderly, “it is no doubt unpleasant to have only one shoe to put on, but it gives one a chance of saving.  And now, moreover, I only run half as much risk of scratching my wife with my toe-nails in bed as you do. ...”

“Quite so,” added the Sergeant; “with Mariette he will caress his good lady, so to speak.”

Auger and the Sergeant crack jokes like two old cronies.  The embarrassed orderly, failing to find a retort, goes away laughing constrainedly.

I sat down by Auger, and we were left alone.

“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.  He talks of others with a natural magnanimity which comes from the heart, like the expression of his eyes, and rings true, like the sound of his voice.  And then again, he really need not envy any one.  Have I not said it!  He is a prince.

“I have had some very grand visitors,” he says.  “Look, another lady came a little while ago, and left me this big box of sweets.  Do take one, Monsieur, it would be a pleasure to me.  And please, will you hand them round to the others, from me?”