And Wolf sat down obediently on the stool. Automatically he took off his coat and trousers, undid his collar, and pulled off his shoes. Then he took off his hat also; and in the same mechanical way dressed himself again in uniform.
The corporal had bidden him a couple of times to make haste, and now he threw the civilian clothes over his arm.
"Everything must be taken away from you," he said as he went.
Wolf nodded, and dully looked on. Once he moved as though to seize at something--the corporal's fingers were not clean, and were dirtying his white collar; he might at least hold it by the edge--but the outstretched hand sank back languidly.
Such behaviour made the corporal look serious. When in the guard-room he handed over the clothes to the non-commissioned officer who had brought in the prisoners, he pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder, and said: "That fellow there's not quite right in his head."
"Do you think not?" asked the other.
"Yes, I do. So I took away his braces, and now at least he can't hang himself."
Wolf had involuntarily stood at attention as the corporal left the cell, and when the door closed he put forward his right foot and relaxed his position just as if the order "Stand at ease" had been given.
He looked down at his worn uniform, the green cloth of which was grey and threadbare, while the madder-red facings had faded to a dirty pink. The well-polished buttons shone, and a darker patch in a corner of the tunic showed up clearly against the shabby material.
By that patch he recognised the coat which he had worn for two endless years, and which he still wore; and all at once he understood his fate.