He stammered:
"You.... Your brother ... the subaltern?"
"Yes."
He seized my hand.
"Michel.... Why ... didn't you tell me about it?"
My Christian name! I had quite got out of the habit of hearing it. I was touched, and pressed his warm hands. Tears rose to my eyes. I experienced the sad and yet sweet consolation which the affection of living people brings in the presence of death. He was a true friend. I admired the delicacy which made him hold his peace; so many people would have thought of nothing at that moment except of lavishing a flow of unmeaning words on me. He silently shared in my mourning.
At last he said simply:
"I am thinking of my sister. If I were killed ... or if she were to die!..."
He lingered for a few minutes, sitting beside me in the grass. There was a hallowed silence.... Friendship, the purest of manly sentiments, revealed itself to me in force....
I was the one to suggest he should go; he needed his sleep.