"When I went down to the operation-ward, I looked well at everything, and I thought it was for the last time."
"Look, dear boy. Everything is just the same, just as beautiful as ever."
"Oh!" he says, going back to his memories, "I had made up my mind to die."
To make up one's mind to die is to take a certain resolution, in the hope of becoming quieter, calmer, and less unhappy. The man who makes up his mind to die severs a good many ties, and indeed actually dies to some extent.
With secret anxiety, I say gently, as if I were asking a question:
"It is always good to eat, to drink, to breathe, to see the light. ..."
He does not answer. He is dreaming. I spoke too soon. I go away, still anxious.
We have some bad moments yet, but the fever gradually abates. I have an impression that Leglise bears his pain more resolutely, like one who has given all he had to give, and fears nothing further.
When I have finished the dressing, I turned him over on his side, to ease his sore back. He smiled for the first time this morning, saying:
"I have already gained something by getting rid of my legs. I can lie on my side now."