Once on the balcony he was thought to be dying, his family keeping round his mat, his father exhorting him to be prepared, when Mrs.de Coetlogon brought him round again with brandy and smelling-salts.

After discharge, he returned upon a visit of gratitude; and it was observed, that instead of coming straight to the door, he went and stood long under his umbrella on that spot of ground where his mat had been stretched and he had endured pain so many months.

Similar visits were the rule, I believe without exception; and the grateful patients loaded Mrs.de Coetlogon with gifts which (had that been possible in Polynesia) she would willingly have declined, for they were often of value to the givers.
The tissue of my story is one of rapacity, intrigue, and the triumphs of temper; the hospital at the consulate stands out almost alone as an episode of human beauty, and I dwell on it with satisfaction.

But it was not regarded at the time with universal favour; and even to-day its institution is thought by many to have been impolitic.

It was opened, it stood open, for the wounded of either party.