Termite took it, pretending to be little impressed by the honor.
When he returned to us he said, while his hand rummaged his hedgehog's beard, "That poor lad--I don't know why--p'raps it's stupid--but I was thinking of his mother." We looked at him with a sort of respect.

First, because he had gone up and then because he had passed through the hail of iron and won.

There was no one among us who did not earnestly wish he had tried and succeeded in what Termite had just done.

But assuredly we did not a bit understand this strange soldier.
A lull had come in the bombardment.

"It's over," we concluded.
As we returned we gathered round Termite and one spoke for the rest.
"You're an anarchist, then ?" "No," said Termite, "I'm an internationalist.