going to be afraid? Why did his heart
beat wildly at each well-known sound in the room? When his clock was
going to strike, the faint squeak of the lever made him jump, and he had
to open his mouth for some moments in order to breathe, so oppressed did
he feel. He began to reason philosophically on the possibility of his
being afraid.

No, certainly he would not be afraid, now he had made up his mind to go
through with it to the end, since he was firmly decided to fight and not
to tremble. But he felt so deeply moved that he asked himself: "Can one
be afraid in spite of one's self?" This doubt assailed him. If some
power stronger than his will overcame it, what would happen? Yes, what
would happen? Certainly he would go on the ground, since he meant to.
But suppose he shook? suppose he fainted? And he thought of his
position, his reputation, his future.

A strange need of getting up to look at himself in the glass suddenly
seized him. He relit the candle. When he saw his face so reflected, he
scarcely recognized himself, and it seemed to him that he had never seen
himself before. His eyes appeared enormous, and he was pale; yes, he was
certainly pale, very pale. Suddenly the thought shot through his mind:
"By this time to-morrow I may be dead." And his heart began to beat
again furiously. He turned towards his bed, and distinctly saw himself
stretched on his back between the same sheets as he had just left. He
had the hollow cheeks of the dead, and the whiteness of those hands that
no longer move. Then he grew afraid of his bed, and in order to see it
no longer he opened the window to look out. An icy coldness assailed him
from head to foot, and he drew back breathless.

The thought occurred to him to make a fire. He built it up slowly,
without looking around. His hands shook slightly with a kind of nervous
tremor when he touched anything. His head wandered, his disjointed,
drifting thoughts became fleeting and painful, an intoxication invaded
his mind as though he had been drinking. And he kept asking himself:
"What shall I do? What will become of me?"

He began to walk up and down, repeating mechanically: "I must pull
myself together. I must pull myself together." Then he added: "I will
write to my parents, in case of accident." He sat down again, took some
notepaper, and wrote: "Dear papa, dear mamma." Then, thinking these
words rather too familiar under such tragic circumstances, he tore up
the first sheet, and