The soldiers might have struck him, he would not have felt it.

His spirit no longer inhabited his body.

It was far away, prostrate beside the loved ones who were dead under the trees amidst the pungent smoke of the gunpowder.
But the one-eyed man was growing impatient; giving a push to Mourgue, who was lagging behind, he growled: "Get along, do; I don't want to be here all night." Silvere stumbled.

He looked at his feet.

A fragment of a skull lay whitening in the grass.