Monsieur Charles Miste leapt two feet up into the air, fell face forwards, and came sliding down towards me, clutching at the snow with both hands.
I was trying to stop my two wounds, and began to be conscious of a swimming in the head.

In a moment Giraud was by my side, and clapped a handful of snow on my cheek.

He had been through the winter's campaign, and this was no new work for him.

He tore open my shirt and pressed snow on the wound in my shoulder, from which the blood was pumping slowly.

I was in a horrid plight, but in my heart knew all the while that Miste had failed to kill me.
Giraud poured some brandy into my mouth, and I suppose that I was nearly losing consciousness, for I felt the spirit running into me like new life.
In a minute or two we began to think of Miste, who was lying on his face a few yards away.
"All right now ?" asked Alphonse, cheerily.
"All right," I answered, rising and going towards the black form of my enemy.
We turned him over.