When the bandage is properly adjusted, what remains visible of
Groin's face is young, agreeable, charming. I note this with
satisfaction, and say to him:
"There's not much damage done on this side. We'll patch you up so
well that you will still be able to make conquests."
He smiles, touches his bandage, looks at his mutilated arm, seems
to lose himself for a while in memories, and murmurs:
"May be. But the girls will never come after me again as they used
to..."
VIII
"The skin is beginning to form over the new flesh. A few weeks
more, and then a wooden leg. You will run along like a rabbit."
Plaquet essays a little dry laugh which means neither yes nor no,
but which reveals a great timidity, and something else, a great
anxiety.
"For Sundays, you can have an artificial leg. You put a boot on
it. The trouser hides it all. It won't show a bit."
The wounded man shakes his head slightly, and listens with a
gentle, incredulous smile.
"With an artificial leg, Plaquet, you will, of course, be able to
go out. It will be almost as it was before."
Plaquet shakes his head again, and says in a low voice:
"Oh, I shall never go out!"
"But with a good artificial leg, Plaquet, you will be able to walk
almost as well as before. Why shouldn't you go out?"
Plaquet hesitates and remains silent.
"Why?"
Then in an almost inaudible voice he replies:
"I will never go out. I should be ashamed.
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