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not do more for him; and I begged him not
to think it was because he was a German he
was left in that state, but that, alas! all the
wounded were in the same terrible plight.
Pointing to his Iron Cross he said it was an
outrageous shame to neglect an officer like
that, and that he must have an injection of
morphia at once. I told him again that we
had no morphia and that I had sent a
messenger to St. —— for medicine and
dressing-material, and I hoped surely to have some
morphia for to-night, but that he must try
to be patient till then. Sœur Marthe brought
him a tisane of camomile—it was the only
thing we had—but he threw it on the floor
and said he must have morphia at once, and
began to abuse us all first in French and then,
as he grew more and more excited, in what
sounded the vilest German. I might have
told him that after all it was a German shell
that had wrecked the chemist’s shop; but I
said nothing. I did not know what more to
say, so I left him, and told the nun to try
again by and by with the tisane. So far he
was in the right in a certain measure; we all
knew he was in pain and nobody minded his
abusing us. But you could never guess the
reason why he sent for me again in less than
half an hour. When Sœur Marthe told it me
I said she had misunderstood what he meant,
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