The hurt in my cheek had fortunately ceased bleeding, and Giraud bound it up with Miste's handkerchief.

I recall the scent of the fine cambric to this day, and when I smell a like odour see a dead man lying on a snow-field.
We composed Miste in a decent attitude, with his slim hands crossed on his breast, and then turned our steps downward towards St.Martin Lantosque.

To one who had never known a day's illness, the fatigue consequent upon the loss of so much blood was particularly irksome, and I cursed my luck many a time as we stumbled over the snow.

Giraud would not let me finish the brandy in his flask, but kept some for an emergency.
The peasants were at work in the fields when we at length reached the valley, and took no heed of us.

We told no one of Miste lying alone on the snow far above, but went straight to the gendarmerie, where we found the chief--a sensible man, himself an old soldier--who heard our story to an end without interruption, and promised to give us all assistance.