It was a lesson in congealed manners.
As we were leaving the room a nun serving as a nurse hailed the German and told him one of her charges was threatening to die, not because of his wound, but because he had lost heart and believed himself to be dying.
"Where is he ?" asked the German.
"Yonder," she said, indicating a bundled-up figure on a pallet near the door.

A drawn, hopeless face of a half-grown boy showed from the huddle of blankets.

The surgeon-general cast a quick look at the swathed form and then spoke in an undertone to a French regimental surgeon on duty in the room.

Together the two approached the lad.
"My son," said the German to him in French, "I am told you do not feel so well to-day." The boy-soldier whispered an answer and waggled his head despondently.
The German put his hand on the youth's forehead.
"My son," he said, "listen to me.

You are not going to die--I promise you that you shall not die.