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 The surgeon felt in a side pocket and drew out a portfolio, which he handed to Gauvain.

In the meantime, the wounded man, refreshed by the cold water, came to himself. His eyelids moved slightly.

Gauvain opened the portfolio; he found in it a sheet of paper folded twice, he unfolded it and read,—

"Committee of Public Welfare. Citizen Cimourdain,—"

He cried out: "Cimourdain!"

This cry made the wounded man open his eyes.

Gauvain was distracted.

"Cimourdain! It is you! This is the second time you have saved my life."

Cimourdain looked at Gauvain. An unutterable joy lighted up his blood-stained face.

Gauvain fell on his knees before the wounded man, crying,—

"My master!"

"Thy father," said Cimourdain.

had not seen each other for many years, but their hearts had never been separated; they recognized each other as though they had only parted the day before.

A hospital had been improvised at the Hôtel de Ville in Dol. They laid Cimourdain on a bed in a little room, next to the large general hall for the wounded. The surgeon, who had sewed up the wound, put an end to the effusions between the two men, saying that Cimourdain must be left to go to sleep. Besides, Gauvain was required by the thousand cares which make the duties and anxieties of victory. Cimourdain remained alone, but he did not sleep; he had two fevers, one from his wound, one from his joy.

He did not sleep, and still it seemed to him that he was not awake. Was it possible? his dream was realized.