"Impossible. I am afraid of fear."
"Then carry it as your burden, your cross. Take it back to Verdun with you."
"I dare not. It would poison the others. It would bring me dishonor."
"Pray to God for help."
"He will not answer me. I am a wicked man. Father, I have made my confession. Will you give me a penance and absolve me?"
"Promise to go back to the army and fight as well as you can."
"Alas! that is what I cannot do. My mind is shaken to pieces. Whither shall I turn? I can decide nothing. I am broken. I repent of my great sin. Father, for the love of God, speak the word of absolution."
Pierre lay on his face, motionless, his arms stretched out. The priest rose and went to the spring. He scooped up a few drops in the hollow of his hand. He sprinkled it like holy water upon the soldier's head. A couple of tears fell with it.
"God have pity on you, my son, and bring you back to yourself. The word of absolution is not for me to speak while you think of forsaking France. Put that thought away from you, do penance for it, and you will be absolved from your great sin."
Pierre turned over and lay looking up at the priest's face and at the blue sky with white clouds drifting across it. He sighed. "Ah, if that could only be! But I have not the strength. It is impossible."