"Ah," exclaimed Célestine, pouting; "it is of him then, even at this moment, that you speak?"
"Truly," replied Raoul. "For were it not for Jean I should not at this moment be able to speak at all."
"He saved your life?" faltered Célestine.
"I would not go so far as to say that," admitted Raoul. "But he certainly enabled me to preserve that appearance which you have more than once been flattering enough to express approval of. Listen, Célestine. At the great defence of the village of Vergt, of which you have doubtless read, my squadron was in the foremost trenches, acting, of course, as infantry. The hostile bombardment was at its height when, just in front of us, an enormous shell burst with terrific force. Although it was fully fifty metres away, fragments whistled among us as thick as hail. Men fell to right and left of me. Something whizzed past my head, so near that it seemed as though it could not fail to inflict a deadly wound. Instinctively, although I had felt no pain, I clapped by hand to my face. It came away covered with blood. Then I discovered that my lips were missing; they had been shorn off as neatly as though by the surgeon's knife."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Celestine, who had not taken her enthralled eyes from Raoul's face during the recital of his story. "You exaggerate, my estimable friend. Cut, yes, I grant you, but not cut off. Why, there is hardly now a scar remaining."
"Yet nevertheless it is strictly true," asserted Raoul with some complacency. "That there is so little disfigurement to be seen is due to the wonders of our operative surgery, added to the devotion of the heroic Jean. He also was wounded in the action, not seriously, but in such a manner, by the loss of two fingers, as to unfit him for further active service; yet no sooner had this noble comrade heard of my plight than he insisted on sacrificing
