After a couple of day's sojourn in the hospital, Paul was ravenous with hunger and would have willingly left if he had been able to do so.

In vain he assured the good sister in his best French that it was his leg and not his stomach that was ill.

In response she would smile sadly as she placed the meager allowance on the little stand at the head of the bed.
Paul was in bed number eleven.

Number twelve was occupied by a Frenchman, who was fast dying, and number thirteen by an English sailor with a leg and arm broken.

The Frenchman was so far gone that his appetite had failed so that he could neither eat nor drink.
Notwithstanding this, his rations were always left on his stand at the head of his bed.