"Then cease to tremble at it; kill it."

"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."